Urgent Message
by Najio
Summary: The picture was of a young boy, maybe around Oscar's age, with the same white hair and blue eyes as Weiss. "You have a brother?" It was all Yang could think to say. Then she glanced down and read the text. It was four letters, all lower case, with no punctuation: help
1. Bad Joke

**Okay. Not going to lie, I had _way_ too much fun writing Weiss' dad, and honestly that entire family is my absolute favorite brand of fucked up. So here we are!**

 **A few housekeeping things to start off with. This is six chapters, counting the prologue, and it's already written in its entirety. It's even been through a couple rounds of editing. With that in mind, I'll be dropping a chapter a day, after giving each of them a last brush-up. There'll also be two to start with, because what the hell, right? This first one is really short anyway.**

 **Last thing, I swear. I don't normally put much personal life stuff in these notes, but in this case the world at large is mostly just lucky I don't know where to obtain a megaphone to shout it from the rooftops. Yeah, I wrote this entire thing during the wait leading up to top surgery*, and it was edited during recovery! I'm a little over a week post-op right now, and feeling a fuck of a lot better than I expected. So that's fun!**

 ***Top surgery in this case is referring to a double mastectomy, wherein a trans person (in this case trans male) gets rid of a pair of unwanted boobies.**

 **Anyways, without further ado...**

* * *

 **Bad Joke**

* * *

Yang didn't like Atlas.

For one thing, it was _stupid_ _cold._ Yang was more weather-resistant than most people, but even she had shivered through their first day there. It was so cold that poor Oscar started talking funny because his face had gone numb. It was so cold that she'd slept under the blankets for the first time in years. It was so cold that _Sun_ was wearing a _shirt._

The environment wasn't as friendly as it had been in Mistral, either. People kept giving them mistrustful looks. They were strangers, and with the border closed that made them suspicious characters.

But the _main_ reason she didn't like Atlas—or maybe it would be better to say that it was the reason she _hated_ the place instead of just _disliking_ it—was that being here was clearly driving Weiss insane. They couldn't just walk around with the easily-recognizable runaway Schnee heiress, so she couldn't go outside without a disguise and a chaperon. That, and being close to home made her restless. She had taken to pacing around the house they were staying in, muttering darkly under her breath, and staying up into the early morning reading textbooks she'd borrowed from Haven.

If there was one good thing to be said about this place, it was that it had something approximating a CCT network. The connection was slow and a bit unstable, and it didn't reach outside the kingdom, but being able to call when someone inevitably ran twenty minutes late on a grocery run instead of panicking was _excellent._

There was also something else about Atlas, something she wasn't sure if she loved or hated. Namely, they were crammed way closer together. Space was at a premium, and Qrow and Ozpin didn't have nearly as much political clout as they had in Mistral. This meant that there were thirteen people all squished into a total of five rooms. They'd ended up mostly in threes—team JNPR; Yang, Ruby, and Weiss; Blake, Sun, and Ilia—with Oscar and Qrow and Blake's parents taking the last two rooms.

On the one hand, Yang had missed sharing a room with her team. On the other... she wasn't sure how to feel about Blake electing to stay with her new (technically old) friends instead. Sure, Weiss had told her half a dozen times not to be stupid and that she just wasn't sure if she was welcome, but _still._ She could have _asked._ Except then Yang would have said yes, because Weiss was right and she was _definitely_ an idiot, and then they'd be stuck together all the time and the awkward silences would have swallowed them whole.

The way it had worked out seemed... not good, exactly, but the best thing out of a whole lot of bad options. Especially since Ruby dragged Blake into their room to hang out _anyway,_ she was wonderful and stubborn that way, so they were getting all the benefits of sharing with none of the downsides. At least, that was what Yang kept telling herself.

This afternoon was one of those times, which meant that Ruby was on Yang's bed so that Blake had somewhere to sit, and she and Weiss were desperately trying to hold up a conversation on life support. No one wanted to talk about their time in Beacon—the void it left behind was still too raw. Everyone was sick of speculating about what Atlas' relic would be and how they were supposed to find it, so that was out. Bringing up what happened in the time _since_ Beacon was just a reminder of how long they'd spent apart, and how different everything felt now. That left... well...

"So... you mentioned yesterday that you can see the northern lights here," Ruby said.

Weiss nodded, then hesitated. "Well, not this time of year. It has to be the dead of winter for that."

"This _isn't_ the dead of winter?" Ruby asked, sounding horrified. Weiss smirked.

"This is _autumn,_ yes."

"Doesn't feel like it," Yang said, mostly just to contribute _something._

Weiss shrugged, waving a hand as if it didn't matter that autumn in Atlas was already worse than the worst winter Yang could remember on Patch. "We wouldn't be able to see them from here even if it were the right season. Too close to the city center. If there aren't Grimm breathing down your neck, you're too near civilization."

"I thought there weren't really Grimm on Solitas." Ruby started fidgeting with her cloak.

Weiss made a so-so gesture. "There are, but there are fewer of them. They don't have conventional cardiovascular systems, so they have to be quite big and very, _very_ slow to survive up here."

It was more interesting than Yang would have expected, but they were _still_ talking about the _weather._

"Are you, uh..." Yang stopped, realizing that she might be about to kill the mood. But, then again... it wasn't like it was that alive in the first place. "Are you okay being back here? I know you didn't leave on the best terms, so..." It was a really, _really_ stupid question, and she regretted asking it almost immediately.

Thankfully, Weiss didn't seem to mind. "As long as I don't need to get within a ten mile radius of the manor, I think I'll manage."

Ruby grinned. "All in favor of avoiding Weiss' dad like the plague?"

"Aye!" It was the first thing they'd gotten out of Blake in around half an hour, and she raised her hand so fast her shoulder made a little popping sound. Yang tipped her head back and laughed, and for about half a second the two of them were laughing together. Then she realized what she was doing and it trailed off into a tense, self-conscious silence.

Yang caught Weiss giving her a _look,_ and mustered up an apologetic wince. It wasn't like she'd _meant_ for that to happen, it was just... it was _weird,_ and she couldn't help noticing how weird it was, which only made it worse.

Weiss sighed and said, "Well, I suppose if nothing else we can agree on—" and then there was a noise coming from her scroll. She paused, looking to the side. "Is that Qrow?"

"Uh... no?" Ruby scratched at the back of her head. "Unless he couldn't get me or Oscar for some reason."

It wasn't a call, either. Just a single buzz. Weiss picked up her scroll, opened it, and read the message. She went deadly still.

"...Weiss?" Yang stood and walked over to her. Wordlessly, Weiss handed her the scroll. The picture was of a young boy, maybe around Oscar's age, with the same white hair and blue eyes as Weiss.

"You have a _brother?"_ It was all Yang could think to say. Then she glanced down and read the text. It was four letters, all lower case, with no punctuation.

― help

Yang passed it on to Ruby, then sat down next to Weiss. She was staring into space, with a little crease forming between her eyebrows. Then she got up, grabbed the scroll, now in Blake's hand, and typed out a response.

"I'm going home," she said, still paying more attention to the screen than anything else.

Yang exchanged a look with Ruby and Blake. For once, they were in perfect agreement.

"We're going with you," Ruby decided.

"You don't have to—"

They all gave her that, 'You're being an idiot' look. "Yeah," Yang said, heaping on the sarcasm, "because _nothing_ should pull us away from the important work we're doing around here." Ozpin and Qrow were looking for the relic—the rest of them were loafing about, training, and looking pretty.

The place they'd been staying at wasn't close to the Schnee Manor. Not even sort of. In fact, it was _so_ not-close that it was two hours from the city center by airship. Except they couldn't go there directly, because all air traffic in and out of the manor had to be approved by Weiss' father. Instead they got off at the nearest town, a tiny freckle on the map called Lingon, still a four or five hour car ride from the manor. Yang could _see_ how agonizing it was for Weiss, resigning herself to not getting there until early tomorrow morning. She tried not to let herself imagine how that would feel.

Weiss directed the driver without telling him where they were going. When he figured it out, he balked a little. She took off her hood to glare at him. He shut up and drove. Yang made a mental note to give him a huge tip later.

"This is insane," Weiss decided, at around two in the morning.

"Very," Yang agreed, "but I'd be worried if you _weren't_ doing something insane after a message like that."

"It might be a trap."

Ruby, who was riding shotgun, twisted her head around to stare wide-eyed at her partner. "He wouldn't do that, would he?"

"If father asked? In a heartbeat."

"It'd be a pretty stupid trap, though," Yang pointed out. "What, he locks four Huntresses in his manor and... oops, looks like they busted down the wall and walked right back out again. Guess he'll have to pay for repairs."

Weiss snickered. "Yes, well." The smile faded. "I just... I can't figure out why he'd message _me."_

"Well... you're his big sister," Ruby said slowly, like that explained everything. Yang beamed at her.

"Yes, but we've hated each other since he was old enough to read."

Yang winced. "Well... is there someone else you think he'd talk to?"

Weiss was quiet for a while. Then, "I don't know. He isn't fond of Winter either."

Thus began the downward spiral, as Weiss started to wonder aloud what could _possibly_ have prompted her little brother who hated her to ask her for help. It was, according to her, at least as bad as the White Fang invading the manor.

Her scroll vibrated again. She snapped it open so quickly Yang was a little worried she might break it. Then she tilted it so that the rest of them could read the message.

― Ignore that. Bad joke.

"Drive faster," Weiss told the driver. He stepped on it.


	2. A Pack of Wolves

**A Pack of Wolves**

* * *

Whitley entered Father's office with his head held high, even though he'd hardly slept last night and his eyes felt like they were about to fall out of his head. There had been more to do since he'd earned his inheritance—his tutors had stepped up the difficulty of their material, and he had other duties as well. He oversaw all executive decisions for a small mine in Mantle, managed some less important stocks, looked through financial reports for missing details, things of that nature. He'd been waking up at five in the morning and often going to bed past midnight. It was worth it, he _knew_ it was, but when he opened the door and saw Father's expression he knew he'd been slipping.

"Sit." Whitley sat, folding his hands in his lap and doing his best to keep his back straight. Father looked him over. He tried not to fidget.

"You've been turning reports in late."

Whitley bowed his head. "I apologize, sir. It won't happen again."

"It's happened more than once already."

He couldn't help curling in on himself. "Yes, Father. I'm sorry."

Father stared at him, his eyes narrowed. "And you're perfectly capable of handling this workload?"

"Yes, sir. I'll make it happen."

Whitley wasn't sure what he'd said wrong, but Father's stare hardened. He swallowed nervously. This wasn't... what did he _do?_

"You're going to be the CEO. That means you need to step up."

"I know." Whitley glared at his shoes. He'd been stepping up since he was old enough to walk. He'd _always_ been loyal.

"I don't think you do. You need to start thinking about what the leader of this company needs to be."

"I am!" He'd been thinking about that his whole life, since Winter was still the heiress. Even then there had been hints. Father would give him a sly wink, here or there. He would praise Whitley's scores in certain subjects, ones that were higher than either of his sisters' had been at that age. He would give him looks, like they were sharing a secret. He was the youngest, maybe, but he'd always been more fit to inherit the company. Father knew that.

"What is it, then? What will you need to be, when you take my place?" The words sent a little thrill up Whitley's spine. He was the loyal one, the _trusted_ one, and he'd be the one sitting in that chair someday.

"I'll have to be intelligent and discerning," he recited. "I will need business acumen, obviously, and a good head for numbers. I think that is well in hand." He smirked, waiting for the slight twinkle in Father's eyes. It didn't come. He swallowed nervously and went on, "I will be aggressive with my competitors. You don't succeed in business by being a sycophant."

Father eyed him coolly. "Indeed."

Whitley shifted in his seat. "I... I won't be afraid to take calculated risks, but I will _never_ skip the calculation part." It was a joke one of his tutors had made, and he'd always thought it would have amused Father. It didn't.

"If you were to sum it up _briefly?"_

"Of course. I will need to be intelligent enough to make excellent decisions for myself and the company, and assertive enough to push them through."

"And is that what you are now?"

Whitley blinked. "Well... yes, I—"

 _"Think."_

Whitley thought. He'd been tutored in economics and mathematics, so he didn't think that his intelligence was at all lacking. He'd never been shy about ordering people around when he needed something done, and he wasn't afraid of hurting his competitors feelings or any such nonsense. "I believe so, sir."

Father didn't look pleased. "In that case," he said, "I am afraid that I cannot relax your current workload. This is what is needed, to force you to rise to the challenges that leading the company will present."

Whitley recoiled like he'd just been slapped. Father hadn't said it, but the meaning was clear. He wasn't good enough. He needed to be pushed like this to... to...

 _To catch up with Weiss._

"May I go now?" he asked, not meeting Father's eyes.

"Do."

He kept his pace even until he reached the door. The moment he was out in the hallway he broke into a sprint. It wasn't until he was back in his room that he slowed down, slamming the door behind him and turning in a fury on a small glass table next to him. He kicked it over. It didn't shatter—it was stronger than that—so he kicked it again and again and again until his foot was throbbing.

It was always, _always_ Weiss.

Whitley grabbed a book off his bookcase and hurled it across the room. It fell open on the floor, its pages spread out like the broken wings of a bird.

He _knew_ Father had preferred him, he _knew_ it! He'd seen the little looks. Even if he spent more time with Weiss, that was only because she was supposed to be the heiress. She was just _older!_

There was a pistol on the wall, all bright white steel and fine, sharp angles. It had belonged to his mother at one point. He ripped it free of the nails holding it up and hurled it to the floor. His chest was heaving.

How could Father _still_ think she'd make the better CEO? Was he _stupid?_

Whitley kicked the wall, then fell onto his backside and howled, clutching at his foot.

All she had was _muscle!_ She spent more time training with her glyphs than she did learning about how the market worked! And that wasn't even mentioning her _temper!_

He snarled and jerked back to his feet, grabbing another book and smashing it down on top of the first.

She nearly killed someone in the middle of a gala! She was _unstable!_

Whitley threw himself onto his bed, muffling another shout into the blankets. Hot tears soaked into the cloth, and he curled both arms around his head.

Didn't Father remember that she'd run off? She didn't even _want_ the company. She didn't care if it succeeded or not! All she cared about was her _stupid_ sword and her _stupid_ powers and that _stupid_ school for barbaric _freaks!_ He was loyal! He'd _always_ done whatever he could to help Father, while _she_ just wanted to up and _leave!_

He sat up, wiped furiously at his eyes, and lunged for the button on the wall. It chimed once.

It wasn't fair. _It wasn't fair!_ Father knew almost everything, but he could be so _blind_ when it came to Weiss. She wasn't going to lead the company, not ever. She didn't need it, she didn't want it, and she didn't _deserve_ it! This was _his_ birthright—the other two had their glyphs, and they seemed just _fine_ wasting their lives following orders and killing Grimm like common soldiers.

There was a knock at the door.

"Enter," Whitley snapped. Klein walked in, then did a double-take when he saw the state of the room. "Clean that up."

"Of course." The little man picked up the glass table, righted it, and set it down in its proper place. He retrieved the gun, cradled it with both hands, and placed it back on the wall. Then he gathered up the books, smoothing ruffled pages and setting each into its proper spot on the shelf.

Whitley watched for mistakes, and when Klein didn't make any he said, "You put that one in wrong. It's supposed to go on the top shelf." The butler nodded and moved the book to the top shelf. It was out of alphabetical order, now, but he slotted it in furthest to the right. "Not _there._ Three books down." The book was moved. "No, _no._ Three books from the _left."_

"Will that be all, sir?"

"No." Whitley glanced around the room. "That painting is crooked." Klein moved to fix it. It was a game he used to play, back before Weiss had gotten it in her head to go die fighting a Grimm. She always wanted to have Klein around for some reason, so he kept him busy with other orders. He could come up with a lot for him to do, even when his room was already clean. But he was already feeling bored.

"Tell me she's never coming back."

Klein frowned, his brow furrowing. "I'm afraid I don't understand—"

"Tell me Weiss left and she's never coming back."

The butler flinched. "It's unlikely that she'll return. I believe she's looking for her friends from Bea—"

"I'm the better heir."

Klein shifted uncomfortably.

"Say it!"

"Master Schnee." Klein walked a bit closer, and even with Whitley sitting and him standing they were at eye level with each other. His expression was soft and strange. "I'm sure you'll make a fine leader of the company."

"Say I'll be _better!"_

Klein stared at him with golden eyes, still with that awful softness on his face. "You'll be the greatest leader this company has ever had," he promised. He still hadn't said Whitley would be better than Weiss. He probably wouldn't. He picked favorites, too.

"Go away." Klein hesitated, and Whitley realized the look on his face was pity. "Go _away!"_ he screamed. The butler left.

Whitley curled up under the blankets, shivering. He could feel the room expanding, stretching out until he couldn't touch the walls, couldn't even run to them. He whimpered, burrowing under his pillows. It was almost eleven o'clock, now. He hadn't finished any of the reports, and he should have given his mine directions. Doing all of it would take hours, and he still had to wake up at five, and he started to cry again because Father was right, he _couldn't_ do it, but that didn't mean Weiss could.

He pulled his scroll out of its drawer and opened Weiss' contact. It was the only photo he had of her, because he didn't like collecting useless sentimental nonsense and anyway he hated looking at her. The picture was old, from before she ran off the first time. She wasn't smiling. None of them ever smiled in photographs—it wasn't professional. Her scar was missing. Her eyes were darker than his, a shade grayer. More like Father's.

Whitley curled up around the scroll, the blanket still thrown over his head. He felt like the walls of his room must be miles away by now, with the light of the screen making a minuscule island in a sea of darkness.

Father was right. He couldn't do it. He cracked one fist against his temple, hard. Then again. _Stupid, stupid, stupid!_ There had to have been a mistake, somewhere. He'd made a mistake talking to Father, and if he found it and showed him that he knew then it would all be okay. But he couldn't think what it was, and he'd called Father _stupid,_ even if it was just in his head, and maybe he was an ungrateful traitor after all, maybe he was just like his sisters, but not the _same_ because he wasn't a real Schnee he didn't have glyphs he was too dumb and he couldn't just _do_ the work and―

He curled up tighter, his knuckles going even whiter against the scroll. She'd left her room a shattered wreck. Even when he'd unleashed all his rage on his own, it had taken less than a minute to clean up. She'd _left,_ she'd run away, that made her a coward. He wasn't a coward.

His own sobs were harsh in his ears. He'd heard her crying through the door, after she'd been disowned. It wasn't right—they never cried in front of each other, never where someone else could see or hear. She'd gone soft at that school, turned spoiled and rotten and _stupid._

He stared at the picture. Maybe he could call Klein again, tell him to clean up something else. But then he'd leave, and the room was so empty, he couldn't risk poking his head up over the covers because he was sure he wouldn't be able to find the door, no one would be able to get to him, there would just be a vast empty plain of pale blue carpeting and space, too much space.

Whitley curled himself up even tighter. He typed out four letters, 'help,' and hit send. It wasn't the first time―there were several texts languishing undelivered in a one-way conversation, texts that vanished entirely the moment he deleted them. Whitley only did it because he knew full well his message wouldn't go through, since Weiss was off in Vale somewhere with her stupid Huntress friends and didn't have access to the network.

It went through.

Whitley stared at the scroll for several horrified seconds, then stuffed it under his pillow and clamped his hands over his ears. It was a mistake, that was all. He hadn't meant it—it was just a joke. She wouldn't see it.

A moment later there was a buzz. He curled in on himself, shaking his head. _Make it go away. Unsend it._

It took a long time for him to muster the courage to drag the scroll back out from under the pillow and look at the message.

― I'm on my way.

He stared, uncomprehending. That wasn't... she couldn't come _back!_ His stomach twisted. Would Father make her the heiress again?

No. He always said going back on decisions made you seem weak, and you should only do it if the benefits outweigh that cost. Except maybe he thought Whitley was so useless it would be worth making himself look bad, if he could have Weiss back.

He threw the scroll out from under the blankets and curled up again, sniffling. Then he realized he should tell her not to come, that he didn't want her here. But it was too late, the scroll was on the floor, and he couldn't bring himself to poke his head out from under the blanket. He could still feel the room expanding. He wouldn't be able to run fast enough to catch up to the scroll, and even if he did then he would be stuck. His bed would drift away from him and there would be nothing, just _space._

Slowly, he forced himself to breathe deeper. Then he squirmed out from under the blanket, eyes squeezed shut so that he wouldn't see the emptiness. His hand reached out, touched the soft rug. Then he groped, back and forth, back and fourth. Found the scroll. Snatched it up and burrowed back under the covers.

It took a long time to open his eyes, even though he was safe again. He blinked a few times, and he didn't remember falling asleep but his mouth had that sour taste to it, so he thought he might have. Finally, he made himself look at the scroll. He typed out a message.

― Ignore that. Bad joke.

Moments later, the screen lit up with her face and the scroll started to buzz. He rejected the call. She sent him another message.

― Too late. I'll see you tomorrow morning.

Furious, Whitley jabbed at the scroll's keyboard.

― I said I don't want you here.

There was no response.

He shoved the scroll under his pillow and hugged his knees to his chest, still under the covers, breathing hard because the air was hot and stale. He told himself Weiss wouldn't come, that she'd take his last text as an excuse to avoid being in the manor. He told himself she probably wouldn't have shown up even if he'd begged her.

And then he drifted off to sleep again, trying to ignore the hollow feeling in his chest.

* * *

He was with his mathematics tutor when the knocking started.

Calling it knocking was a bit of an understatement. It sounded like someone was taking a battering ram to the door—one big, hollow _boom_ after another. It was also to the tune of a pop song Whitley had heard a few times on his scroll radio.

"May I go and see who that is?" His tutor, a middle-aged woman with a coppery red braid going grey, nodded.

Whitley broke into a run the moment he was out of sight, feeling like he'd just swallowed a stone. _Stupid, stupid, stupid!_ It was his fault she'd shown up like this, and what if Father saw her?

He would just open the door and send her away. That was it. He sprinted towards the foyer, nearly tripping over himself to get there first, but just as he reached it he heard the sound of the front door being unlatched. Whitley opened his mouth to tell her to leave, but the words died in his throat with a tiny, hoarse croaking sound.

It wasn't Weiss.

She was just the sort of person he would have imagined, if he'd tried to picture a Huntress. Tall, broad-shouldered, with muscles standing out on her left arm as she grabbed the edge of the door. The butler tried to close it, but it was like he was pushing against a solid wall. Her eyes were a light shade of purple, narrowed dangerously. Then she stepped forward, and her right arm slipped through the doorway. Metal fingers curled into a fist.

There wasn't a hint of refinement in her posture—she was wild, barbaric, but she carried with her an easy arrogance that came from strength and vitality, from the subtle threat of violence in even the smallest movements. She could have blown the door right off its hinges. The fact that she didn't was the only courtesy she seemed likely to extend to them. The butler didn't invite her in—he just backed away, and she walked over the threshold like she belonged there.

Whitley retreated until he was back in the hallway, peering wide-eyed into the foyer. He would have kept staring at her, but then another woman followed her inside and he couldn't look at anything else. She wasn't physically imposing in the same way, but there was the same sense of danger about her, the same eerie relaxed posture that came from believing right to her bones that there was nothing here that could possibly harm her.

That wasn't what caught his attention, though. He felt his eyes drawn almost magnetically to the cape that swirled around her heels. It was torn in places, but the bold red color and the way she wore it made it dignified, noble in a way that an unblemished one wouldn't have been. He followed the sweep of it from her boots to her shoulders, then to the line of her jaw and a pair of pale silver eyes. Her hair fell into them when she moved her head—it was jagged and uneven, as if it had been cut with a knife rather than a pair of scissors.

Whitley might have kept staring at her for hours, or at least until someone noticed him, but that was when the panther walked in. His stomach flipped, and he ducked back around the doorframe, panting. Then, before he could stop himself, he took another peek.

He hadn't been seeing things. She was a faunus—from the triangular ears on top of her head, to the piercing amber eyes, to the fluid, catlike grace with which she moved. Then she turned, her gaze locking onto him, and he pressed himself back against the wall with his heart in his throat.

"Whitley." The voice was unfamiliar, and he flinched away. He heard the clicking of heels, and Weiss rounded the corner. She was dressed differently—instead of her usual pale blues and whites, she was wearing practical brown trousers and a hooded overcoat. He stepped back, jarred by the sight of the sword at her hip and the fact that she, too, had that same way of moving—steady, self-assured. Unafraid.

The other three fell in behind her, and Whitley suddenly didn't know where to look. He kept staring at the ears, struck dumb by the fact that his sister just let one of _them_ into the house. Then his gaze would track a little to the left, to where the woman in red was standing, following the locks of hair that brushed across her forehead. And finally, between them, a little in front of the one in yellow, stood his sister.

"So." Weiss crossed her arms over her chest. "What's wrong?"

Whitley gaped at her. She'd come. She'd _brought her teammates!_ He tried to imagine what Father might do, then swayed on his feet.

"I'm fine," he said, too quickly. "You shouldn't be here."

"No." Weiss glanced around, her lip curling a little. "I shouldn't. But if you need help—"

"I don't."

It didn't seem to be working. She was giving him a strange look, now, something close to Klein's. He didn't like it.

"You're thinner than when I left." She reached out to take his chin in her hand. He stepped back and out of the way. "Have you... you don't look like you've been sleeping well, either."

"I'm perfectly fine," he repeated. "It was only a bad joke, I didn't think you were in range."

"Whitley." She was shorter than him, but he got the impression that if she wasn't, she would have crouched down so that they were at eye-level. "If something happened—"

"Weiss." Both of them whirled around, finding Father at the bottom of the steps. He looked over her teammates one by one, then glared at her. "What are you doing here?"

"We were in the area." Weiss rested a hand on the hilt of her sword. "I thought I'd stop by."

"Naturally." He very obviously didn't believe her. She didn't seem to care.

"Is mother up for visitors?"

"No." He cast another glance at the three unfamiliar faces, lingering a heartbeat longer on the faunus. "I see you've invited strangers into the manor."

"We have room."

"I'm sure they'll have beds, but if you aren't going to tell me what you're doing here—"

"I'm not getting into this with you," Weiss snapped. "I'm staying. I want to check on mother and make sure she's alright. You can either act like a real host, or try and force us out. I wouldn't recommend doing that."

Father's nostrils flared. "Are you threatening me?"

"No." She folded her arms. "I am going to stay in the house I grew up in, and I am going to visit my mother. If you decide to throw away a small army of droids in trying to remove me, I don't believe anything of value will be lost."

He gritted his teeth. Then, slowly, he stepped back. "Very well, then." He gestured at the stairs. "I'm sure you can find spare rooms. Your own isn't very presentable at the moment."

Weiss dipped into a bow so shallow it was more insult than courtesy, and shot Whitley a small, conspiratorial smile. He realized his mouth was gaping open and shut it. Then he watched them go. He felt like a shepherd that had just let a pack of wolves into the pasture.


	3. Clammy Hands

**Clammy Hands**

* * *

Weiss made it all the way upstairs before she cracked. She walked up to a wall and let her head fall against it. There was a dull thud.

Ruby poked her shoulder. "Are you okay?"

"Fine." She took another moment to breathe, then straightened up. "Absolutely fine." Her heart was still beating faster than she'd like, but that would go away in time. Probably.

Blake was looking almost as shell-shocked as she felt. "I just met Jacques Schnee."

"Yes. Yes you did."

"But it's _fine,"_ Ruby said, breaking into nervous chuckles.

Weiss heaved a sigh. "Right. Well... I should probably look for my mother, if I'm going to use that as my excuse."

Yang stiffened slightly, then shot her a worried look. She made a point of walking next to her, and touching her lightly on the upper arm—a silent, _'You okay?'_

A small nod, to show that the gesture was appreciated, and then Weiss led them towards the garden. She realized belatedly that she shouldn't have gone left up the steps—Father had definitely noticed that. Hopefully he'd assume (partially rightly) that she'd taken the fastest route out of his line of sight, and not that she'd been making a beeline for Whitley's room until she'd had a second to think about it.

As they approached the garden, Weiss tried to broach the subject of her mother. She discarded a few half-formed sentences— _I should warn you... I thought you should know... About mother..._ Then the woman herself came around a corner and made the whole thing a moot point.

She was relatively steady on her feet this morning. Both hands were empty, swinging at her sides. Her gait was strange, slightly loping, but it looked more like a limp than anything. When she got closer, Weiss could see that her hair was in disarray, swept over one shoulder with loose strands falling in her face. Her eyes were overly bright, roving over the four of them with dawning recognition.

"You must be Weiss' new friends! It's lovely to meet you."

All three of them seemed taken aback—in Ruby and Blake's cases, likely because they'd just come from meeting Father. In Yang's... Weiss honestly had no idea what _she'd_ expected based on what little description she'd had, but whatever it was it wasn't what she was seeing now.

Ruby recovered first, sticking out a hand. "I'm Ruby Rose. Um... hi?"

"I heard the door." It took a moment, but eventually she noticed the hand in front of her and shook it. The motion was flawless. "Willow Schnee. Was it you knocking?"

"Me," Yang said, raising her hand and grinning sheepishly. "Sorry if I was too loud, I... uh... the door looked really solid and I wasn't sure how hard to hit it."

The actual reason was that Weiss had asked her to be as loud as she could without breaking anything. She wanted to make sure Whitley knew they were there, and she was hoping they could see him as soon as she walked in. That way, he couldn't be hidden away somewhere while Father stalled them. It had worked. Sort of.

Mother nodded jerkily. "Yes. Naturally." She blinked a few times, then moved on to Blake. "And you are...?"

"Blake Belladonna." She didn't offer to shake—she was keeping back a little, looking nervous. Mother turned to Weiss.

"You're back."

"Yes."

Her gaze grew sharper, just for an instant. "Why?"

"I wanted to see you." That was a lie. Mother knew it, too—Weiss had realized a long time ago that she understood more than she let on. But she would never acknowledge it.

Sure enough, she only smiled and gathered her up in a hug. Weiss bore it stiffly, flinching at the sour smell. Then mother stepped back, still beaming. "Your brother is around here somewhere. He's such an ambitious boy. Did you know, he told me a few weeks ago that he's learning... I don't remember, but it's _years_ beyond his level."

Weiss fought down a wince. Whitley had been years ahead since they were all children. It wasn't news.

"How is he, anyway?" she asked, sensing an opportunity.

"Very busy." Mother nodded again, her eyes glazing over. "He's been learning all about the company since you stepped down."

"Of course," Weiss said, through gritted teeth. "Do you think he's enjoying the work?"

"Oh, yes." Her eyes grew mistier. That meant no.

"Is Fa—"

"But enough about us!" mother said quickly, turning to the other three. "I must know all about your partner..." she trailed off.

"Ruby," Weiss supplied.

"Yes."

If Ruby was offended, she didn't show it. "Um... I may have sort of blown Weiss up when we met. Accidentally!"

 _Well. At least she didn't say that in front of Father._ Mother squinted through the haze, her brow furrowing. "You... oh. That's... different."

"Different is one word for it," Weiss said, raising an eyebrow. Ruby went bright red and stared at her shoes. "First impressions were rocky all round. Mine was arguably worse."

Yang snorted. "Arguably?"

"I didn't make a crater in the courtyard, did I? That ought to count for something."

"She's always been quite brusque," mother observed. "Rather like her Father in that way." It was casual, like she was talking about the weather.

Weiss froze. Then she took a breath through her nose and let it out. The others were staring at her, horrified. She ignored them, instead fixing her gaze on a point about fifteen feet away, where a vase was standing against the wall. "I don't think anyone introduced you to Yang. Ruby's sister."

Mother blinked again, heavy and slow, but allowed herself to be diverted. "Ah. I'd never have guessed."

"We don't look much alike." Ruby grinned awkwardly.

"Yes, you do." Weiss shot her an amused look. "When you're about to do something stupidly impulsive, that is."

"Hey!" They both spoke at the same time, with the same indignant expression, which really only proved her point.

"Don't insult the guests, Weiss."

"Nah, it's cool. It's how she says she loves us!" Ruby smirked and poked her tongue out in Weiss' direction. For a brief instant, there was no power on Remnant that could have convinced her to deny it.

Mother frowned. "It's unnecessary."

Yang chuckled, and it came out sounding strained. "I like to think we give as good as we get."

"There's no need to force people to _assume_ you care about them."

Any hint of drunkenness vanished for a heartbeat. Mother was standing upright, her gaze as sharp and cutting as it must have been when _she_ was the heiress, her mouth in a hard, firm line. Then it softened, dulled, and she was aimless again. "Besides, it's only polite."

"Where's Klein? I wanted to talk to him."

"I believe... he's been cleaning up your old room. Perhaps he's still there."

"Thank you." Weiss moved to leave, but before she could her mother stepped in front of her and took her face gently in clammy hands.

"I've missed you," she breathed. Weiss turned her head to the side, trying to ignore the smell. Then she was released, and she said something vaguely daughterly over her shoulder as she walked away.

No one said anything for a long while. They passed a trio of maids who quickly ducked out of sight. Ruby headbutted her shoulder. Weiss looked over at her, one eyebrow raised. "What was that supposed to be?"

"Um... I was trying to think of what to say and then I gave up."

"I don't think you're anything like your Father," Blake said. "At least, you don't have any of the traits I dislike about him."

"There are traits you _like?"_

"Statistically speaking there's probably _something_ about him that isn't detestable."

Yang snickered. "Yeah. Maybe he collects stamps."

Weiss made the mistake of trying to picture it—Father hunched over a table, flicking through a book of obscure Atlesian stamps, relics of the old mail system, cooing at a rare depiction of the third king of old Mantle. It was so absurd that, for the first time since she was a child, the manor halls rang with the sound of laughter.

* * *

Blake hadn't been sure what to expect, meeting 'Klein.' All she knew was that he was one of the butlers, and Weiss smiled talking about him. She'd been expecting a boy about their age, maybe a childhood friend or a childhood crush, or both.

What she got was a balding middle-aged man that came up to around her shoulders. He was indeed in the room Weiss had indicated as hers—was part of the _wall_ missing?!—standing with his back to them. He wasn't doing much of anything, as far as Blake could see. When he heard the door open, he turned around and his mouth popped open in shock.

Weiss stepped forward and hugged him. It was odd to watch—for one thing, Blake had seen her _initiate_ physical contact maybe once, and that was during all the reunion waterworks. For another, it was just _bizarre_ seeing her tower over someone like that.

When she stepped back, he glanced around, looking briefly confused. Then his eyes widened and went from tawny gold to yellow. "Ah! These must be your teammates!"

Blake had been through a lot of introductions lately. To Ruby and Yang's uncle, to Weiss' mother, to the kid that had been possessed by Ozpin. She'd even done her fair share of them between her parents and Ilia. Even so, she honestly didn't know what to make of Klein. That was, until he swept himself into a low bow and said, "I believe I could have guessed their names from your letters." His eyes twinkled.

This, she realized all of a sudden, was the same thing for Weiss as Yang shaking hands with her dad had been for Blake. First impressions with Jacques were irrelevant. He would hate her regardless, and no one would care. Klein's opinion _mattered._ Somehow, that wasn't so intimidating. Not when he was beaming genially at all of them.

"I'm glad you were around while she was stuck here," Yang said, sticking out a hand that Klein shook. "I was kinda getting worried."

Weiss glared at her, red-faced and indignant. Blake might have taken pity on her and changed the subject, but Klein spoke again before she had the chance. "I am always happy to be of service." Then, he straightened up, his expression turning more businesslike. "I didn't think you'd be back for a long time. And... well, I wonder..."

"Why I'm here?"

"Precisely."

Weiss hesitated. "Klein, is there something wrong with Whitley? Does he seem sick, or stressed, or...?"

The butler's eyes went pink, and he looked at the floor. "He's been quite overworked."

"He sent me a message."

Klein looked up suddenly, startled. "Did he? That seems..."

"I know." Weiss grabbed her right wrist with her left, her shoulders slumping. "He said he hadn't thought it would get through. It makes me think that maybe this isn't the first time."

Blake imagined the boy she'd just met lying on his bed, sending idle pleas for help he assumed never reached the recipient. It was enough to make her feel a pang of something between sympathy and horror—and judging by the look on Weiss' face she felt the same, plus an added measure of guilt.

"That's not your fault," Yang was quick to say. "You came as fast as you could."

"As fast as I could would have been a _long_ time ago, I should never have—"

"With respect, miss." Klein put a hand on top of her head. He had some trouble reaching it. "Master Schnee has never made helping him easy or pleasant."

"That shouldn't matter."

"Hey." Ruby poked her shoulder. "Stop that. You're here now, okay?"

Weiss opened her mouth to protest, then closed it again. Sighed. "Fine. I'll focus on what I can change. Happy?"

"Yep!"

"We should settle in." Weiss glanced at her scroll. "It's only about an hour until lunch."

"Just a moment." Klein held up one finger. "I believe I'd be remiss in my duties if I didn't speak with the four of you. Briefly, of course."

Blake glanced to her left, but Weiss looked just as confused as she felt.

Then, Klein's expression grew almost devilish. "She talked about the three of you quite a lot when she was home last."

Weiss whipped her head around to stare at him. _"Klein!"_ she hissed, indignant.

"You're as close as family," Klein went on, somber now. "Quite a bit closer than most family, in fact." He bowed low again, one hand on his chest, then straightened. Smiled innocently. "I doubt she'd mention it on her own, so there it is." A wink, and then he was off, stopping only to give Weiss a parting pat on the arm. She gaped after him.

Yang snickered. "Aw, that's so—"

"Don't say it." Weiss huffed, blowing a lock of hair off her forehead. "Ugh. How and why is he duty-bound to do that?"

"Dads have to be embarrassing. It's in the contract."

Weiss' expression shifted, turning almost melancholic. "Oh. Right."

"C'mon." Yang ruffled her hair, earning herself a slap on the arm. "It's only fair, right? If any of you ever meet _our_ dad..."

Ruby shuddered theatrically. "We'll never live it down. Ever."

"You already know my parents," Blake pointed out. "And my mom can be... um..." Judging by the looks on their faces, they'd already been treated to _several_ humiliating childhood anecdotes before they even got to Atlas.

Weiss sighed. "I suppose an embarrassing... well... is better than a horrible parent."

"We're still about even as far as that goes," Yang said. Paused. "Depending on how you rank 'tried to kill us all' and 'oppresses an entire group of people.'"

"I suppose you have a lack of quality over quantity on that front." Weiss' smirk returned. She moved to the door, beckoning them all behind her and gesturing to the pack she was carrying. "Come on. I want to put this down."

They walked for several minutes, during which Ruby loudly resigned herself to getting lost all the time and Blake instinctively kept track of the nearest exits. It was unsettling to be _here_ and not have to sneak around. She caught herself doing it anyway.

Then Weiss announced that they were in the 'guest wing,' and that they could have their pick of rooms, because her father almost never had guests. Ruby glanced around the group. "I can share with Yang."

Weiss hesitated. "We don't really _need_ to share, you know."

"Yeah, but..." Ruby flailed her arm, as if to indicate the manor itself. "It'd be weird not to. Wouldn't it?"

"I can sleep on my own, if you'd prefer," Blake offered.

Weiss looked around, following Ruby's gesture, and winced. "That... shouldn't be necessary."

Blake smirked and followed her into the room across from the one Ruby had picked—by closing her eyes and running back and forth with her semblance, then pointing. There were still rose petals everywhere. Blake felt they improved the atmosphere, despite the fact that they looked like blood on snow.

The room was at least twice the size of their dorm, with a single bed. The single bed was proportionately enormous—there was room for three people to lie on their backs without touching. It made her uncomfortable anyway. She'd never liked sharing—even with Adam she'd missed having her own tent and had brought in a separate sleeping bag. Probably part of being an only child. It was still a vast improvement on what she imagined having the place to herself would have been like. There was no possible way she would have slept, she would have kept wondering if her friends had been arrested in the night and they were coming for her, too.

She was broken out of her thoughts—and claiming the side of the bed nearest the window for purely practical reasons—by Weiss clearing her throat. When she looked up, her teammate was giving her a _look._

"What?"

"You do realize that Ruby might have suggested going by partners, right?"

Blake cringed, then tried to play it off. "I don't see why. She and Yang used to share a room when they were kids, didn't they?"

"Maybe, but that's not the _point._ The point is that eventually the two of you are going to have to be able to exist in the same room, at the same time, without Ruby and I playing referee."

It was very typically blunt and to the point. Blake generally appreciated that, but right now she found that it rankled. "It's not like I don't want to. I just—"

"I'm aware that things are a mess. I'm suggesting that you fix it."

"I can't just—"

"Try." Weiss pointed at the door. "Go. Talk. To—"

"Fine!" Blake threw both hands up and stalked across the room. "I'm going!"

Once she was in the hallway, she briefly considered exploring the mansion, finding the closest thing she could to a library or a dark pit in the floor, and curling up there. Unfortunately she'd promised to stop doing that. It was a promise she'd already broken once.

She knocked on the door, and it was Ruby who opened it and ushered her inside. Then she backed up until she was framed in the doorway. "I'm gonna just... um... ask Weiss where the bathroom is!" Then she vanished, leaving them alone.

Yang was busying herself with her pack, hanging clothes in the walk-in closet and, when she finished with that, rummaging around for something _very_ well-hidden. The silence was thick and cloying, and it eventually grew so unbearable that Blake had to speak.

"I'm sorry." It felt dragged out. Not because she _wasn't_ sorry, but because the words were so utterly insufficient that they felt like an insult.

"Yeah. I know."

Her tone was brusque, cold. "Yang, I know I can't just apologize and erase it but... I really _am—_ "

"Blake, _I know."_ She turned around, then, and the look on her face said that she really did. "I know you feel guilty. You've always done that, you drive yourself crazy trying to punish yourself for things but... that doesn't _help_ anything."

Blake curled in on herself, bowing her head.

"Stop." Yang sighed. "Let me finish, okay?"

A nod. It was all she could manage.

"I talked to Weiss before the fight at Haven, and... she helped me see where you were coming from. A little." Yang spread her hands—one flesh, the other metal. "It's not like I _want_ it to be like this. I wish we could go back to the way we used to be like nothing ever happened, but I don't want—"

She looked away, shook her head. "I meant I can't just... just flip a switch and trust you again. It's going to take a long time before we can go back to normal, _if_ we can go back to normal."

Blake swallowed hard, then nodded. It felt like she'd been punched, but that was _more_ than deserved.

"Look at me?" She tried, she really did, but she couldn't quite force herself to look her partner—former partner?—in the eye. Instead she glanced at her shoulder, flinched away from the arm, went back up to her face, and eventually settled on a point somewhere near her jaw.

"I don't want you beating yourself up constantly, okay?" She didn't nod at that, mostly because she didn't think it was wise to make another promise she couldn't keep. "I... I won't even say it was a bad thing for you to go home."

She looked up sharply, startled momentarily into looking Yang directly in the eyes. Her partner seemed frustrated, though whether that was with Blake or with herself, it was impossible to say.

"I won't tell you that you not to leave ever again. That's... it feels too much like forcing you to stick around. I don't want to do that. If you don't _want_ to be around me, _don't."_

Blake flinched. "I do—"

"Right." Yang took a deep breath. "So... no more disappearing. If you're going to go to Menagerie for months, _say goodbye."_

"Okay."

Yang moved in for a hug. Blake hadn't been expecting it, hadn't thought that this would go so well. She wasn't prepared when she felt the metal hand on her back, and she flinched.

Yang pulled back. "Sorry," she said, her voice cold again. "Didn't mean to gross you out."

"What—no! It's not that, it's just... it's my fault it's there."

There was a heavy silence. Then, "No, it isn't."

"I—"

"It _isn't."_ Yang folded both arms, the prosthetic one catching the light. "I'm angry at you for doing the one thing you _knew_ would hurt me the most. This?" She held up the arm, making a fist. "It wasn't your fault. I'd have done it even if I knew what was going to happen."

Blake stared at her. "But..."

"You think I wouldn't give up the other one if it meant protecting Ruby or Weiss?"

When she put it that way, it was suddenly much easier to understand. Blake shook her head. "No, that... it sounds like you." Yang grinned.

Suddenly she got it, she understood what it was that she'd broken. Maybe she'd assumed Yang would hate her for the arm, maybe she just hadn't wanted to face her afterwards, but she'd thought everything had already been beyond salvaging. She'd never tried to imagine what her partner would do if it _hadn't_ been her—picturing, say, what she thought Yang might say to Weiss after losing an arm to protect her. She couldn't be sure, but suddenly shouting and hurling blame seemed... much less likely. And if it were _Ruby..._

"I'm an idiot," she said aloud.

"Blake, don't—"

"Sorry. I just... I didn't think about that. And I should have."

The second time Yang hugged her, she didn't flinch away from the touch of metal.

"I care about you too, even after everything that happened. And I don't regret it." Yang paused, and Blake could feel her stiffening up. She let go, stepped back.

"Maybe... no. I definitely did, for a while." Yang was the one looking at the ground now. "There were a lot of messed up things going through my head back then. Lately I've been feeling... not more like myself. I still feel different. But it's mostly just _different_ now, not... less."

Blake could hardly remember when she _hadn't_ felt like less than she used to be. The last time was probably right before the split with her parents—she'd never been able to get the betrayal out of her head, even after reconnecting with them. Maybe that would happen, with time. Maybe she'd just have to focus on not losing any more.

"Thank you. For giving me more chances than I deserve, and... for everything."

"I'd say you're welcome anytime," Yang said, grinning, "but I've only got three left, so let's try not to make it a habit."

On that _horrifying_ note, Blake went back to the room she was sharing with Weiss and tried as hard as she could to ignore the implied 'I told you so' radiating from her like a toxic fog.


	4. A Single Rose Petal

**A Single Rose Petal**

* * *

The Huntresses were still occupying the manor the next day. Whitley couldn't figure out why Father hadn't ejected them from the premises yet—that was what guards were _for,_ and he had the ear of the General!

Except then he saw them sparring—the blonde one and the girl with the red cape, whose names he'd learned were Yang and Ruby respectively. They'd set up in the courtyard where Winter used to teach Weiss. At first they used their weapons, then they left them to one side and went hand-to-hand. Watching them, it was easy to see why Father hadn't told them to leave. Probably, all the guards put together could force them out. Almost certainly, the guards and some soldiers from the General could force them out. But it wouldn't be easy, and the collateral damage to the manor would be more trouble than it was worth.

Whitley didn't like it. He stalked down a hallway, his hands held stiffly at his sides, stewing. If he'd thought she might have read that stupid message, he'd never have sent it in the first place. She hadn't responded to the first one, an innocuous 'Are you there?' that he could have passed off as simple worry for her well-being. Why she couldn't take the hint and _go away_ was completely beyond him, but maybe that was just the fact that she was contractually obligated to ruin _everything._

He huffed, blowing a lock of hair out of his face. It wasn't as if he hadn't told her that he didn't want her here. In the very beginning of the invasion, he'd politely but firmly informed her that the presence of strangers in the manor was making it difficult for him to focus. She'd given him another of those detestable _looks_ and hadn't even considered leaving. It was... it was _irritating._ Winter had never been this nosey after she left home. She'd _stayed gone,_ aside from brief and occasional visits during which she was perfectly content to mutually ignore one another. He'd never thought he'd have reason to look fondly on how _Winter_ behaved.

Maybe they were up to something. He couldn't think of what off the top of his head, but it was possible Weiss was doing this to put pressure on Father and get him to rescind his decision. Then again... she knew he wouldn't bend that easily. He would much rather burn down the entire manor, possibly with himself inside, than let someone walk all over him like that. So it wouldn't be that direct. But maybe...

Whitley turned a corner, then blanched and threw himself backwards, pressing himself close to the wall. He inched forward to peer around the corner. The faunus was there, opening the door to the library. He stared. She disappeared inside, and he was caught between conflicting urges to run away and to approach. Curiosity won out, and he waited for a moment before easing the door open just a crack.

She hadn't gone far. There, in the middle of a section about Atlesian history, she was running a thumb across the spines of all the books. It was as though she was petting them. One of the ears on her head twitched, the fur catching the light and taking on an iridescent sheen. They looked well groomed, at least.

Her head turned, and he pulled his head back around in a rush, going stiff and frozen. After a few heartbeats of silence, he risked another peek. She wasn't there. He looked around, alarmed, then sprinted to his next lesson.

He'd overheard Weiss call the faunus Blake, and it was getting difficult to walk around the manor without running into her all of a sudden. It felt like being hunted. Or, no, not exactly like that. More like he was a mouse trapped in a maze with a cat. The predator wasn't looking for him specifically, but he _knew_ she was prowling around somewhere, and he couldn't rest easy when he was out in the hallway instead of locked up in his room. It wasn't rational, he knew. For one thing, she could break down the door quite easily. For another, he assumed that since she was trying to stay on Weiss' good side, she wouldn't want to hurt him. Not when Weiss was trying to help him—or to _appear_ that she was trying to help him.

All in all, there were too many degrees of separation there for him to feel entirely confident—he had to assume the faunus wanted Weiss to consider her an ally, that she would consider potential consequences rationally, that Weiss didn't want him harmed, that she would have said as much... though they _were_ related, perhaps that would be assumed...

His thoughts went on in that vein. It wasn't productive, though very little he'd been doing since they arrived was. He tried to focus on his usual work, but they were _distracting._ Whenever he tried to walk from one room to another he would jump at shadows or turn a corner and see one of them.

Then there were the questions. Weiss usually focused on the work he was doing, but the others were far less subtle. The blonde one, Yang, had flat-out asked whether or not he had any time to himself. When he had said no and stalked off, he hadn't moved fast enough to escape before she reached out and rubbed his head. He was left standing in the middle of the hallway, indignant, his hair sticking up in all directions, and with a peculiar ache somewhere between his chest and stomach.

Somehow despite all that, the one who managed to be the most distracting was his sister's partner. He didn't understand the exact meaning of the term in the context of a Hunter school, but it seemed to be roughly equivalent to the same thing in business. The paperwork was just replaced with Beowolves. He had noticed her in the courtyard, practicing forms with a scythe bigger than she was, and been so drawn to the way she flourished it around her waist that he'd stayed there too long and been late to one of his lessons. Whitley couldn't even figure out _why_ he'd been so compelled to stare. Maybe it was just the dissonance, the way the red and black stuck out against the blue and white of the manor. It reminded him of the lining of Weiss' bolero. A splash of color so vibrant it was almost violent.

It was around lunchtime the day after the invasion began when Whitley finally managed to get some work done. His tutors were all irritated, but not at him. It was hardly his fault the wayward former heiress had brought in these strangers and the whole rhythm of the manor had been disrupted. Even so, he hated not being able to keep up with his studies as he normally would. Winter and Weiss may have their glyphs, but Whitley was determined to be leagues ahead of them in anything you would actually need to run a business.

He ate quickly and mechanically, then finished up a report on his Dust mine in southern Mantle. It should have been turned in two days ago, but he was behind. Very behind. He planned to keep working, but soon realized that he would need more specific information and headed for the records room to find it. Halfway there, he stopped dead.

Someone was laughing. It took several long seconds before he realized that it was Weiss, and probably the other Huntresses she'd brought with her. He looked around, then found where the sound was coming from, a door left slightly ajar. Whitley peered through the gap.

What he caught was a snapshot of the inside of a seldom-used music room. All four of them were crowded onto the same piano bench. Yang was on one side, her head tipped back as she laughed, her flesh and blood arm slung casually over the shoulders of her partner. Next was the faunus, Blake, resting both elbows on her knees and turning her head away from the others. She was smiling softly, and looking like an entirely different person because of it.

Ruby was leaning on Weiss, holding a wooden recorder in one hand and pushing it in her direction. His gaze flickered over the wide grin, the cant of her head, the lock of reddish hair that had fallen into her eyes. Then there was Weiss herself. His sister was recoiling away from the instrument, bent double and giggling helplessly as she tried to push it away. She'd put a hand over her mouth to muffle the laughter, but her expression was open. Unguarded.

Whitley ducked back behind the door, listening as the laughter continued, occasionally interspersed with bursts of painfully amateurish playing of the recorder. He tried to reconcile this image with the one that had been immortalized in the family portrait and failed. The closest thing he could think of was the way she acted around Winter, the sickening overly-solicitous looks and the wide, worshipful smiles, but even those were _different,_ if only because she was trying to smother them and present something like dignity. This was just... raw.

She'd gotten soft at Beacon. That was the only explanation. Whitley scowled at the door as the laughter finally tapered off. It was practically a spit in the face—she'd gone off and left, _twice,_ only to come back when Father obviously didn't want her anymore and pretend like she was still in that school for barbarians? He stalked away, letting the sound of their voices fade behind him, seething. Didn't she _care_ about the family? Their legacy? The fact that Father had raised all of them and taught them how to do business?

Clearly not. His face twisted into a scowl, remembering the looks on the others' faces. The image popped back into his mind's eye of Ruby holding the recorder and half draping herself over his sister, eyes shining. Whitley felt something hot and sickly stirring in the pit of his stomach. He stormed off in the direction of the records room, using all of his willpower not to stomp. Then he stopped cold, the rage and disgust and _something_ welling up until he couldn't keep walking.

There they were, more people _fawning_ over her when all she ever did was stumble across the genetic Schnee semblance and wave a pointy metal stick around. More recognition and praise for doing absolutely nothing for anyone except running away and betraying everything their family name was supposed to stand for.

What gave her the right to barge in like this with her entourage of freaks, like she'd never run off and abandoned the family? What gave any of them the right to be here, in _his_ house, meandering around the hallways on a whim? What did everyone _see_ in her?!

Whitley noticed a flash of color and looked at the ground. He bent down and scooped up a single blood-red rose petal. As he ran the silky material through his fingers, he considered his next move.

* * *

That evening Weiss requested dinner at five o'clock, ostensibly because she wanted to show her team the gardens afterwards. It was painfully obvious to anyone who was paying attention that this was _actually_ because Father was in a meeting until six. Whitley didn't bother to point out the lie—it was more convenient for him that Father wasn't present. He would have noticed what he was doing in a heartbeat, and then he would have wanted to know _why._ Whitley doubted he could give a satisfying answer.

Instead it was just him, mother, Weiss, and her teammates. There was no need for the entire dining room table, so they ended up at a smaller, circular one in the garden. That was probably mother's idea, or maybe Weiss had suggested it to get her on board with the earlier meal. Whitley was seated between his mother and his sister, with Ruby on Weiss' other side, followed by Yang and Blake. There was an empty seat between her and mother, as if highlighting the place where it would _definitely_ not have been wise to seat Father. Mother had a glass of wine that one of the servers kept refilling. The rest had water.

Whitley waited until they were partway through their first course. Conversation had stalled—it was mostly kept alive by Yang and Ruby, who were talking almost exclusively to each other and Weiss, with the occasional attempt to get one of the others to join in.

He found that he was nervous. Father had taught him a lot about how to direct conversation, how to hide his true intentions, and how to make someone _feel_ that he was complimenting or insulting them without knowing _why._ He'd practiced on less important party guests, mostly to stave off the horrible boredom. This was the first time he'd ever tried it for real.

An opportunity presented itself for him to speak—well, less an opportunity and more Weiss asking him directly how he was finding his studies. Common fuel for small talk, but he suspected he wasn't the only one trying to bend this conversation.

"They've been progressing excellently, if I do say so myself." He paused, considering. It might not be wise to hide the first barb inside the first thing he _said,_ but it wasn't as if he was trying to fool Weiss anyway. "They've been accelerated, of course, since I've been named the heir."

He glanced at the others' expressions, but they didn't seem surprised. Apparently they _did_ know that Weiss wasn't as much of a golden goose now as she used to be. That was fine—expected, in fact.

If Weiss noticed, she didn't show it. "I'd think you'd have plenty of time. It's not as if Father plans on stepping down."

He bristled at that. "I suppose he's worried the curriculum up until now has been insufficient."

"And you've been keeping up? I know it can be rather overwhelming."

"I'm up to the task, I assure you."

"That's not what I—"

"Are you continuing your own education at Atlas?"

It was Ruby that answered. "We actually just left Haven. Um... we can't give too many details, but we're going to be pretty busy. I don't think we'll be staying long enough to go back to school."

He hummed thoughtfully, as if considering something. "I worry about you, Weiss. It's dangerous out there, and I know you rely quite heavily on Dust. Perhaps we could help you resupply before you leave? It's only gotten more expensive in recent months, and with funds the way they are..."

"I'm perfectly fine," she snapped.

"Of course." Whitley leaned back, taking another glance at her teammates. Blake hadn't reacted at all, but the other two looked concerned.

"Are you sure?" Ruby asked. "I mean... it'd be kinda bad if we ran out of ammo. More supplies is always good."

"You and Juniper managed well enough on the road. I'm perfectly capable of doing the same."

"Um." Ruby scratched the back of her neck, looking embarrassed. "I kinda meant... all of us, actually, but..."

"Oh."

"But I get it if here is a bad place to resupply! Besides, it's not a huge problem. We can totally do missions to get what we need!"

"No, no, if it's an issue of—"

Mother cleared her throat. "You haven't used any of your allowance in quite a long time. Would that suffice?"

"I still have an allowance?"

Mother blinked a few times, her brow furrowing. "Well, why not? You stepped down, but you haven't been disowned."

Weiss rolled her eyes. "Right. I forgot that I'd 'stepped down.'" She made little quotations with her fingers as she said it. Mother winced, then took a larger than normal sip of wine.

"I don't love the idea," Blake said, "But... this might be one of those times when practicality wins out."

Whitley kept down the smirk. "Of course, if Weiss would prefer to live off the lien the four of you can procure, that's her decision."

Weiss looked up at that and gave him a hard stare. Blake's brow furrowed. _That's right,_ he thought. _The well has gone dry._

"Why on Remnant shouldn't she use her own allowance?" Mother raised her glass to the server behind her, let it fill, then set it down again.

"Well," Weiss said dryly, "I don't have access to it anymore, for one."

"I'm afraid I don't have the code. You'll have to ask—"

"I am _not_ doing that."

Instead of answering, mother took another long sip from her glass.

"Eh." Ruby shrugged, as if they'd been talking about loose change instead of thousands of lien. "Like I said, we'll figure it out."

"My parents can probably help," Blake added. "Maybe Jaune's family, too."

"It's not like we need to wait for people to give us a resupply budget," Yang pointed out. "Seriously, I think you're underestimating how high Grimm bounties get."

"I've never known any adult Hunters well enough to ask." Blake sat forward in her seat. "I think we've established that we're not going to starve, and if money of all things is our biggest problem, it means things are going much better than expected."

Yang laughed. "Yeah, point."

"Besides, all practicality aside... I'd rather not take money from Jacques Schnee. No offense meant—" she glanced towards mother, "—but it's a sore point for me, and some others that are traveling with us."

Whitley took a bite of food so that he wouldn't scowl. He'd been almost sure that would have provoked _some_ kind of reaction. Annoyance, or disappointment, or _something._ Instead they were just... moving on. It sounded as if Blake had been waiting for an excuse _not_ to take money from the company.

He gripped his fork rather hard, waiting for his next chance to break into conversation. Again, it came from Weiss. "I'm curious what else you've been doing."

"Well, I've been overseeing—"

"Besides work. Hobbies, books, other interests. That sort of thing."

"I've been busy, and learning about the company is stimulating enough. I don't have any reason to take up anything else."

"I'm curious what goes into running the company," Blake broke in. "Is it really as much work as people make it out to be?"

Whitley bristled. "Father has to look after a lot more than I do, obviously," he said, keeping his annoyance down. "He meets with the heads of all the individual mines, goes through their reports, looks after finances... it's a lot of responsibility."

"And you're learning all of that?"

"Not all of it," he admitted. "Not yet. I still have regular schooling to attend to. In my free time I look through reports sent in by a mine in southern Mantle. It's a test case of sorts. I make any managerial decisions I deem necessary, and ensure that the mine flourishes."

Father didn't have to micromanage every supplier like that, but the idea was that the single mine would simulate the entire company—he had smaller management reporting to him, and he did his best to increase productivity and efficiency wherever he could while also handling crises. He made sure to prioritize his work there over other homework, but even so he hadn't been able to get nearly enough done. He could feel the beginnings of a headache when he realized he still hadn't looked over yesterday's report.

"It sounds like he trusts you."

Whitley nodded, then started picking at his salad. He couldn't help the flush of shame, remembering how displeased Father had been. And now he was being even _less_ productive, all because Weiss kept poking her nose where it wasn't wanted. He stabbed a slice of tomato more violently than necessary.

"Excuse me for a moment," he said. "Call of nature."

He didn't go straight to the bathroom, though. After a sudden flash of inspiration, he made his way to the kitchen instead. The food was nearly done, which gave him a moment's pause, but on second thought that would only make it better.

"Paprika?" The woman turned, noticed him, then curtsied.

"Sir?"

"Weiss changed her mind. She'd prefer the salmon." He knew for a fact that she hated it, but this chef had started after she'd left for Beacon. After she came back she'd hardly eaten with them at all.

Paprika hesitated, glancing behind her. "We're nearly finished. It'll take longer to—"

"That's alright." Whitley smiled innocently. "She's prepared to wait."

After that he really _did_ use the restroom, and returned to the table feeling jittery. It wouldn't be hard for Weiss to figure out it was him that did it, but with any luck it wouldn't matter much. He could always spin it as a harmless sibling prank.

In his absence the talk had turned to Beacon. Probably mother's doing, if he had to guess.

"I do hope their food was tolerable," she said, neatly spearing a bit of spinach. "I've found it's difficult to adjust whenever I leave the manor." She hadn't left the manor in over two years, and even that was only because a gala had been hosted elsewhere in Atlas.

To Whitley's surprise, Yang burst out laughing at the question. "Oh, yeah, the food was _great._ Remember that time when—"

Weiss reached past Ruby and slapped her arm. The metal one, which seemed a bit pointless. "Don't you dare."

"Oh, yeah!" Ruby bounced up and down in her seat, eyes shining. "That was _awesome._ I got to make a can tornado, and Nora hit Yang through the ceiling with a watermelon hammer!"

There was a moment of stunned silence.

"Um. Not that we did that more than once! It was just a very memorable once!"

Mother put down the glass of wine, stared at them some more, then turned to Weiss. "Was that... _normal,_ there?"

"Um..."

"Not that kind of thing _exactly,"_ Yang said. "But weird stuff did happen a lot."

"It was _great,_ though!" Ruby's eyes took on a nostalgic haze. "The whole year I was like, 'Why do they serve whole swordfish?' And then Weiss was like, 'This is why!'"

Weiss put a hand over her face and slumped forward. What little skin could be seen of her forehead and cheeks had flushed scarlet. "Why are you talking about me?" she grumbled. "What about Blake using _sausages?"_

"I'm more worried about the bread," Yang said. "Why was it hard enough for her and Pyr—" She froze. The table went dead all at once.

"Sorry," she mumbled.

Eventually the conversation restarted, though now it was much more serious and subdued. Whitley made little jabs at Weiss when he could, trying to irritate her in preparation. Sure enough, the server came out with all but one meal. Weiss frowned, asking after her own.

"It'll be out momentarily," he promised.

Whitley waited for her, as did Blake, but all the others dug in. Minutes later, the server returned and set down her plate. He watched, tensing in anticipation. Weiss scowled.

"This isn't what I asked for."

The man paled. "I apologize, I thought it had been changed."

"How do you even—" Weiss started. Then Ruby elbowed her in the side, and she deflated with a sigh. "Never mind. Tell the chef that I would like what I _originally_ ordered."

He bowed and hurried away. Weiss shot Whitley a look, and he did his best not to wince or flinch or otherwise give himself away. He had the feeling she knew anyway, but it didn't matter. Nobody else would have caught it, and he didn't think she'd care enough to bring it up. Not when it hadn't _worked._ He'd expected her to explode at the server, the way she would have when they were younger.

That was fine. It had been an off-the-cuff idea, right after he'd had to readjust his strategy. Next time he'd do better.

* * *

Weiss approached him later that evening while he was catching up on reports. He had chosen to sit in the library rather than his room, and regretted that the moment she walked in.

"What?" he asked.

"At dinner—"

"Really?" Whitley crossed his arms. "It was only a harmless prank, dear sister. You got what you wanted eventually."

She rolled her eyes. "I don't care about _that."_

He frowned. Quite frankly, he hadn't thought anything else of note had happened during dinner. Weiss sat down across from him, then stole one of the sheets from the report.

"Give that back!"

"This is a daily report, and it's over twenty pages." She flipped it over, scanning the back. "I expect it's what a local manager would deal with. And _not_ on top of schoolwork."

"I don't go to school." He snatched the page back.

"No." She leaned back, observing him. "Why did you send that message, Whitley?"

"I _told_ you. It was a bad joke. I didn't even think you'd get it."

"Which is it? Was it a joke, or did you not think I'd see?"

He scowled. Unable to think of a suitable response in time, he turned to the report and began skimming through it, ignoring his sister entirely. She sat there, staring. "I have work to do," he said, leaving the, 'go away' implied.

"You haven't been sleeping. Judging by how thin you're getting, you haven't been eating well, either. I'm worried about you."

"I appreciate your concern, but I'm fine."

"Why are you protecting him?"

He looked up sharply, glaring. "Pardon?"

"We both know perfectly well what he's like. I know you don't _want_ to work yourself into the ground. You used to like walking around the garden, playing the piano, reading—"

"I _want_ to lead this company." He stood up, gathering the report as he did so. "And I'm going to. So whatever you're trying to do, you might as well just leave. Again."

"You think I'm here because I want my _title_ back?" She got up, too, knocking the chair back several feet.

He smirked. "You're not as subtle as you think you are."

"Why in _Remnant_ would I want that?" She gestured at the library, and to the manor at large. "This place is _horrible,_ Whitley. I wanted to leave, I've _always_ wanted to leave. Maybe I could have used the company for something good one day, but since that obviously isn't going to happen I will _gladly_ wash my hands of it."

"Then do," he snapped.

"I can't."

"Why _not?"_

"Because I care about you, you insufferable brat!" She took a deep breath, then shoved the chair back in its place. "I'm on your side, believe it or not, and I'm not leaving until I'm sure you're alright."

"Well, I'm fine. So go away."

"This isn't what fine looks like, Whitley." Her expression softened, and he looked away quickly, shuffling through the report.

"Go away," he repeated. But it was him that left the library, slamming the door behind him as he went.

He thought that would be the last he'd hear about it, or at least the last he'd hear about it for the day. The next ambush happened in the hallway as he was walking towards the garden. He often went out there to think—later in the evening, when he was sure mother had retired to her room. Instead he ran into Yang halfway there. He tried to backtrack, but she noticed him before he could get away.

"Hey," she said. Whitley froze. He hadn't expected her to talk to him—she was here for Weiss. There was no reason for them to interact.

"Can I help you?" he asked, forcing himself to be diplomatic when all he really wanted was to snap at her.

She gave him a friendly grin. It clashed with the obvious muscle, the mechanical arm hanging loosely at her side, and the flaming heart on her chest. He imagined this was what it would feel like to run into a grizzly bear and be offered a handful of blueberries. "I was wondering if I could help you, actually."

Whitley scowled. "Weiss put you up to this."

"If you want to put it like that, yeah. I'd have wanted to even if she hadn't."

"I don't need your help."

"Look, just hear me out?" She held up her hands, as if to show that she was unarmed. It only served to emphasize the fact that she didn't _need_ to be—he edged back, wondering if it was true that most Huntsmen and Huntresses could crack someone's skull open with a bare fist. He'd doubted it at the time, but...

"Well?"

"Maybe you want to get a chance to do something other than work sometimes? We could talk to your dad for you."

Whitley twitched, then hoped she hadn't noticed. "I enjoy my work."

"Well, yeah, but I'm sure you like to do other things too. Hobbies?"

"No."

"Okay... uh, we could also take a trip to Atlas. None of us have gotten to do much sightseeing since we got here."

He opened his mouth to refuse _most emphatically,_ then paused. It occurred to him that this was an opportunity, so he changed tack. "I don't think I could," he said instead.

"Sure you can!" She grinned again, and he was taken aback—her smiles were wider and toothier than he was used to.

He glanced around, as if he were checking for other people. "I don't think you'd understand."

"Maybe not, but I'll try, if you're willing to talk me through it."

"Your friend..." he trailed off, waiting. She furrowed her brow.

"You mean Blake?"

Whitley nodded. His heart was pounding hard enough that he could feel it, but he made sure he was breathing normally. She was very close, and he could see the muscle in her arm and shoulders. Her clothing smelled faintly of leather and burn Dust. He very nearly didn't go through with it. _She can't hurt me,_ he reminded himself. _She can't hurt me, she cares what Weiss thinks and Father would crush her._ Strength didn't mean much compared to _real_ power.

"It wouldn't be polite to say anything, but I don't think I could travel with her. Weiss and I were taught that sort of thing isn't safe."

"Blake won't hurt you. She's just like us. Caring and kind, once you get to know her."

Whitley pretended to think it over. "I don't know," he hedged. "Weiss always said it's not a good idea to turn your back on them."

The change was immediate. Yang flinched, her eyes flicking down, and she even took a half-step back. She was taller than him, probably heavier than two of him put together, and almost all of that was muscle. It felt incredible to stagger someone like that with just a few words.

"Yeah." She sighed. "Weiss was a bit weird about her in the beginning, but she came around. I think you could too, if you actually talked to Blake. She likes books, you've got that in common." A small smirk. "Probably different kinds of books, though."

"Weiss is sensible enough to know when making her opinions public is unwise," Whitley said offhandedly.

This time, he caught a flash of anger. It made his stomach churn, but he refused to acknowledge it. She was big and strong, but _he_ was the one controlling this conversation. It was _his_ home. He wouldn't let himself be cowed.

"She says she doesn't have a problem anymore, and I believe her. Blake believes her. That's good enough for me."

Whitley raised an eyebrow. He didn't even have to fake the skepticism. "If that makes you happy, I suppose it's harmless."

"She wasn't lying."

"Maybe not." He shrugged. "We've been taught our whole lives to present ourselves properly. It's not as if she's told you all about what she was like in the manor." Another flicker, this time of something else. Maybe worry? He wasn't sure, but he pressed on anyway. "There was a nanny once who was always extra nice to her. Weiss got her fired."

This time, he knew what the look on her face was—realization. Then her eyes flashed red, and he felt the breath go right out of his lungs. Her nostrils flared. Whitley stumbled back, putting up an arm as if that would protect him. He'd miscalculated, _badly,_ she was going to—"

Then it was gone. She shut her eyes, took a deep breath, and when she opened them again they were back to the usual lavender. Slowly, as if she was trying not to startle him, she knelt so that he was looking down at her. Her expression softened.

"Whitley," she said gently. "What made you send that message?"

He had to look away. "It was nothing," he insisted. "Just a joke." Then he fled, turning a corner and stopping somewhere in the south wing, leaning against a wall and hugging both arms against his stomach. The look on her face... he didn't recognize it. It wasn't quite pity, and it wasn't exactly understanding either. Something in-between, maybe.

It hurt to look at.


	5. The Schnee Whisperer

**The Schnee Whisperer**

* * *

Yang shut the door to the room Blake and Weiss were staying in and flopped down on the bed with a _thump._

"I was going to ask how it went," Weiss said, standing over her with one hand on her hip, "but I think I can guess."

Blake and Ruby were both sitting cross-legged on the end of the bed. Yang mimicked them, with Weiss on her other side. There was still room for three or four more people. That was just an excessive amount of mattress.

"Well, I found him." That was about where things had gone downhill, if she were honest. "He wouldn't say anything."

Weiss made a face. "I didn't think so. I'm not sure there _was_ an inciting incident."

"You think it was really nothing?" Ruby asked, sounding incredulous.

"I'm wondering if it was nothing _specific._ There's a difference."

"Uh..." Yang winced. "That's... not our only problem."

Weiss stared at her. "What?"

"Well... he said some other things."

She made a little 'Yes, and?' motion with her hand.

"He mentioned a nanny that got fired. I figure he was twisting the story _somehow,_ because I can't imagine you doing that... ever, but I thought I'd ask."

"Oh." Weiss looked down, her expression turning guilty. "That." She ran a hand through her hair, pushing her bangs back. "There was this nanny who took a particular interest in me. Most of them were polite but distant. They were here to do a job and that was it—which is completely normal and understandable. But, well... this was a just after Winter left for the academy, so when she started doing more..."

"What do you mean more?" Ruby asked.

"Just little things. She'd stay with me when I was sick, sneak in hard candies from home, talk about her grandchildren. It was nice."

"Did your dad find out?" Yang asked, brow furrowing.

"Yes, but not like that. She... started hinting at me. She talked a lot about how underpaid the position was."

A knot of dread formed in the pit of Yang's stomach. "Oh."

"Yes. I didn't think about it critically enough, so I went to my father and suggested giving her a raise. He... informed me about the subtext."

"And he fired her?"

"Not then, no. I wouldn't believe him, so he suggested that I tell her I'd asked, and he'd categorically refused. That he didn't give raises to the house staff, ever. He told me that if she still performed at the same level, he'd agree to up her pay."

"She didn't?" Ruby said, looking mournful.

"No. It was gradual, but eventually she stopped. I tried to get Father to give her the raise _anyway."_

"You did?" Blake's brow furrowed. "I... can't picture that."

"Probably because it was something of a formative moment," Weiss said dryly.

"What did your dad do?" Ruby asked.

"He told me I needed to get better at lying to others and worse at lying to myself. _Then_ he fired her."

Ruby gave her a sideways hug. Weiss returned it with a pat on the shoulder, then squirmed free. "I'm sorry."

"It's fine." Weiss shrugged, as if it was nothing. "Klein arrived not long after that, and he was _actually_ interested in my well-being."

Yang suspected it had taken a long time to convince her of that, but she was glad it had happened. Though, that _still_ left an important question unanswered. "So... why would Whitley bring it up?"

"He's doing it on purpose." Blake didn't sound _surprised,_ more like she'd had a nasty theory confirmed. "I thought he seemed off at dinner. Remember how he kept bringing up the inheritance?"

"Or lack thereof," Weiss added.

"Exactly. It seemed like he was trying to make it very clear to us that there wouldn't be any financial reward for staying with you. Which doesn't matter to us, but..."

"He thought it did."

Blake nodded. "I'd assumed he was trying to chase off possible vultures in a really roundabout way, but..."

"Well, he _was,"_ Weiss allowed. "Just not for my benefit. It's... not _entirely_ surprising."

"It isn't?" Ruby stared at her, incredulous. "But..."

"He's always been a bit..." Weiss trailed off, as if she was trying to phrase it delicately. "Well, when we were younger he'd call Klein into his room and have him clean it up, because he knew I liked him. Things like that. It was petty, but I tended to retaliate in much the same way."

Yang couldn't imagine living like that with a sibling. She and Ruby had fought plenty of times, mostly when Summer was still with them, but those had always been little spats that were forgiven by the end of the day.

"That seems... I don't even know." Ruby sat back, frowning. "It's depressing."

"We've been rivals since we were children—at first we both knew Winter was going to be the heiress, and we were fighting over second place. When she burned any and all possible ties to the company, suddenly we were clamoring for the open spot."

"And... he asked you for help?" Blake raised an eyebrow.

"I _do_ believe he didn't think I'd get the message. That... almost makes it worse, honestly."

"Did..." Blake trailed off, then rallied. "Do you think the rivalry was... natural?"

"I have no idea. Father certainly didn't _help,_ and he never liked how close I was to Winter. Mostly because he wasn't fond of Winter on principle."

"Why not?" Ruby asked.

Weiss laughed out loud. "It was probably somewhere between her declaring her intention to learn to fight and not be a 'spineless desk jockey' all her life, and the point when he flew to Atlas Academy during their school dance and she threw a cup of punch in his face."

Yang's jaw dropped. "She... she _did_ that?!"

"That she did." Weiss smiled sadly. "I was still rather upset with her at the time, so I didn't enjoy the moment _nearly_ as much as I should have... but it's one of the best things I've ever seen."

"So... what are the chances of an encore performance? Or a copycat act?"

The smile faded, replaced by a harder look. "That depends on why Whitley sent that message."

"It could have been he was feeling overworked and wanted someplace to vent," Yang suggested. "I haven't seen anything that makes me think there's anything sinister going on, just... really bad parenting."

"I'd feel better if we got a straight answer out of him, but I doubt that we will."

"Um..." Ruby raised her hand. "Is it okay if I try something?"

"By all means."

* * *

'Something' had to wait until the next morning, but Ruby was up bright and early and scouring the manor for her partner's brother. He was hard to find, mostly because he had the same habit as Blake of hiding in random corners with a book. Only he always had textbooks the size of his torso—only a _slight_ exaggeration!—rather than novels. It seemed like a crummy way to spend all your time.

Eventually Blake spotted him walking down a corridor and texted her directions. From there it only took about fifteen minutes for her to find Whitley on a small sofa tucked away in an alcove. The second Ruby laid eyes on it, she knew that he and Weiss used to fight over the spot. It was a little scuffed up, unlike all the other furniture, and there were signs that one or the other had laid claim to it. A tiny cushion embroidered with the Schnee snowflake, one of Whitley's books, an old hairpin...

"Hiya!" She gave him a tiny wave. He jumped nearly out of his chair, then turned and stared at her with wide blue eyes. It was hard not to laugh, but she managed.

He took a moment to recover. Then, "May I help you?" It sounded almost like an actual question rather than a subtle request to go away. She'd gotten both from Weiss, so she was pretty sure she could tell them apart.

"Well..." She plopped down uninvited on the other side of the sofa, prompting him to shift way over to the far right and bring one of his legs up. He looked more like a kid, doing that. "I wanted to ask about that text."

Any interest or curiosity in his eyes vanished. "I've already told you, I don't need help."

"Don't need it? Or don't want it from Weiss?"

He stiffened, then looked down at the book in his lap. "Both."

She nodded—that was pretty much what she'd been expecting. "Okay. But... can I ask why you don't want _Weiss'_ help?"

He glared at her, then back at his legs. "You people act like she's the second coming of Cornelius Arc."

"Meh." Ruby grinned at his gobsmacked face. "Not _all_ the time, she can get pretty grouchy, but when it really matters... I know she'll do everything she can to protect the people she cares about. That includes you."

"In case you missed the news, we've loathed each other since infancy."

Ooh, big words. If Weiss was anything to go by, that was his way of making himself look scarier. Kind of like a cat puffing up its tail.

"Pfft, nah." Ruby waved a hand. "I'm like... an _expert_ on telling when Weiss actually hates someone. And she doesn't hate you."

She'd been trying to ease into it gently, but she'd pushed too far, too fast. Whitley stiffened up, the tips of his ears going scarlet. Then he whirled on her, his chest all puffed up and his eyes narrowed.

 _Oh boy,_ she thought. _There's the family resemblance again._

"I don't know what nonsense you've projected onto her," he spat, "but it's just that— _nonsense._ I've known her for longer than any of you by more than an order of magnitude!"

"I—"

"She's not some kind of special superhero!" He threw the book down, hard enough that it bounced off the floor and ricocheted into a corner. His whole face was red now, not just his ears, and the angry flush was creeping down his neck.

"She's a _snake!_ She doesn't care about anything except her stupid semblance, she'd rather let the company _burn_ than admit I could do a better job running it, she's just an impulsive violent _barbarian_ and if you think she's your _friend,_ then you're _delusional!"_

He stood up on the couch so that he was towering over her. Ruby looked back calmly.

"Just because she can make fancy circles in the air, everyone seems to think she must be _smarter_ and _kinder_ and _wiser,_ but she's just better at killing things! That's all _either_ of them are good for! They won't work for anything, they won't focus on their studies, they're too busy _training!_ We'd get into fights and she'd _beat_ me, she just likes Hunting because it lets her hurt things, she's nothing but a giant black hole eating up _everything_ just because she _can!"_ There were tears shining in his eyes, and they'd taken on a wild, almost crazed look.

Ruby got to her feet, standing a little bit in front of the couch. He was almost two feet above her like this, he'd already been taller, but she took hold of him under the armpits and lifted him down easily. He made a disgruntled noise and kicked her in the shin. She hugged him.

"It's okay," she said quietly. He went limp, his forehead slumping against her shoulder.

"What are you doing?" he grumbled.

"Giving you a hug. Duh."

He squirmed a little, but just when she was about to put him down he stopped and went back to resting his head on her arm.

"Believe it or not," Ruby said, "I think I've gotten to know Weiss pretty well. She didn't make it easy or anything—actually she called me a dunce and yelled at me a lot. But she's a good person under all the prickles, and I bet you are too. This place... I think it made it hard for you to grow up without the extra defense. Kind of like cacti. But it's not _good_ for you, and I think you'd be happier if you didn't feel like you had to tear someone else down to have a friend."

He protested, but she just let him go and patted him on the head. "So... how about I'll be your friend for a bit?"

The look on his face was awesome. She'd never seen a Schnee so completely baffled before. Not even Weiss, and she'd caught Weiss making some pretty funny faces, no matter how much she tried to deny it. Then his expression shifted, becoming guarded. Suspicious.

 _Wait for it..._

"Fine." He turned his head away and folded his arms. "If it means all of you will go away faster."

Ruby grinned. She was pretty sure both of them would have tried to hit her for suggesting it, but they were a lot alike. Whitley was just... smaller. In more ways than one.

* * *

"Okay!" Ruby burst into the room they'd converted into a command center. "I think progress has been made."

Yang whistled appreciatively. "Keep it up, and we're gonna have to start calling you the Schnee whisperer."

"I know where you sleep," Weiss reminded her. In Yang's humble opinion, it would be _totally_ worth it.

Blake cleared her throat, interrupting before either of them could start something. "What happened, exactly?"

"I got him to agree to hang out with me for a bit. It's... um... I think the problem is that he's jealous."

Weiss stared at her. "Jealous? Of what? He's the heir now, that's just about all he's ever wanted."

Yang, on the other hand, was struck by the revelation. "Weiss," she said carefully, "think about it for a second."

Her expression slowly morphed from skepticism to horror. "Oh. _Oh."_

"He's been pretty alone here, I think," Ruby said. "It's a little like when you first came to Beacon."

Blake frowned. "I don't know about that. He seems to be more about sowing discord than verbally flaying everyone within a ten foot radius."

"Hey!"

"It's the same kind of thing, though," Yang insisted. "He's just doing what he knows, and what he knows is really _not_ how to make actual friends."

"It's how to act in a cutthroat environment." Weiss still looked a little annoyed by the verbal flaying comment, but she nodded agreement. "Alright. I suppose I can see that."

"So..." Yang turned to her sister. "You asked him to hang out?"

"Well, yeah!" She put both hands on her hips and puffed out her chest. "I'm gonna make friends with him!"

When she glanced around, there were three very incredulous faces staring back at her. She sighed. "What? He's lonely and jealous, so this way he doesn't feel like there's nobody looking out for him and he's maybe a little less angry about not having as many friends as Weiss. It works!"

Weiss threw her hands towards the ceiling. "You know what? I give up. If you think it'll work, I'll do it."

Ruby shifted uncomfortably. "Well, um... it might be better to hold off on that until later."

Yang winced at the look on Weiss' face. This was another of those times when she wished she couldn't empathize so well.

"I think we should start out with just me," Ruby suggested. "It seemed like I got through to him before. Then Yang and Blake can wander in. We'll try to get him to loosen up, and you can talk to him yourself afterwards. Um... and I think for that, it would work better if you were... um..."

"Just... spit it out."

"I know you probably won't want to talk about stuff that's really personal or... um... vulnerable, or anything. But I think that would really help."

Weiss huffed out a breath. "Yes. Fine."

"Right." Ruby cleared her throat. "So... Yang, Blake? Wait for my signal."

"What signal?" Blake asked.

"Um... I'll text you something gibberish."

Yang nodded. "Gotcha."

"Then when the three of us have talked to him for a bit—nothing about the message, just... um... I mean, I'm sure we'll find _something_ to talk about—after all that, we'll leave the room and Weiss can go in and finish up."

About twenty minutes later, Yang and Blake were standing outside the door of the small music room the four of them had spent a few hours in the previous day. According to Ruby, Whitley had picked it out. That seemed oddly coincidental, in her opinion.

"He's been watching us," Blake explained. Yang did a double-take.

"He what?"

"Sometimes when he sees one of us he hides and peeks around corners. He's not very good at it."

Yang thought about that for a long moment. She supposed it _could_ be worse—it wasn't like any of them had done anything too embarrassing. Well, _she_ hadn't, anyway. It was still creepy imagining Weiss' weird little brother poking his head through doorways and staring.

"I definitely lucked out on the younger sibling." Blake nodded, and they lapsed into silence. It was... definitely better than it had been a few days ago. That wasn't saying much.

Blake was the one to break it. That in and of itself Yang would count as progress—she hadn't been willing to talk to her at first, or look her in the eye, or _anything._ It had pissed her off, up until Weiss had given her an irritated look and pointed out that interpreting what Blake was doing like she was being _rational_ was ridiculous.

 _"She assumes you hate her,"_ Weiss had said. _"So she's acting accordingly."_

Ruby's advice was simpler— _"Just ask her to hang out. She's not gonna say no."_

Yang suspected the other two were talking about them when they weren't there. She'd call it plotting, but that was a more sinister word than it deserved. More like social strategizing.

"I thought about what you said," Blake told her. Yang tensed—that could mean good or bad things.

"Yeah?"

Blake shifted uncomfortably, looking at some point over her head. "I just... I never apologized for anything specific, so... I'm sorry. For being stupid and not thinking about what I had before I messed it up. And for being selfish and not remembering what you told me when I should have."

It was more uncomfortable than anything else, but Yang nodded anyway. The words were vague, but that was probably because of where they were—she could understand what Blake had meant, and it was... it was good. The fact that she'd picked those two specific things felt important—she'd noted both the trust that had been and the reason _why_ it was broken.

"Thanks." Yang didn't quite _force_ the smile, but she had to give it some encouragement. "All necessary apologies have now been paid in full." It was a joke, but she was also being serious—she didn't want it to become an apology a day, all accompanied by anguish and guilt and grief over what she mostly just wanted to put in the past. If it came to that, she'd be worried Blake was trying to speed up rebuilding trust, and that... she wasn't sure how to articulate it, except that it would be a giant red flag.

There was also the really-not-so-small matter of how she'd flat-out lied to Blake for the first time she could remember. She absolutely _could_ let her in again this easily. It was just that she didn't want to. Not out of spite—though there was probably a little of that, too—but self-preservation. A small, pathetic part of Yang would have welcomed her back the day after she'd woken up with her arm gone, simply because it couldn't bear the thought of being alone. But if she let her get close right away, after everything that happened, she would do it again next time. And the time after that. She'd let Blake break her over and over again, if that was what she wanted.

Better to keep her at arm's length. Wait until her newfound confidence felt sturdier. Give Blake lots of opportunities to run off, and if she didn't... maybe it would be okay to go back to normal. Until then, she could aim for being friends. Not partners, not like Nora and Ren or Weiss and Ruby, but friends.

There was a long silence. Over the past couple of days silences between the two of them had gone from unbearable to just uncomfortable, which Yang was calling a win. Still, she was glad when her scroll buzzed. She checked it, just to make sure it was Ruby, and then frowned.

— cmng out 4 sec

"Uh... is that supposed to be the signal or—"

Ruby walked out the door, laughing with an undercurrent of soul-devouring awkwardness, then closed it again and leaned her back against it.

"If anyone asks," she whispered, "I needed the bathroom."

Yang and Blake must both have been giving her weird looks, because she seemed to read the question on their minds.

"There's nothing to talk about! _Nothing!_ I accidentally got him going on a tangent about Atlesian politics and I think my brain is gonna leak out of my ears!"

Blake winced. "Tell hunting stories?"

Ruby mulled that over for a few seconds. She made a face and muttered, "Once more into the breach."

"Wait!" Yang grabbed her arm. "You're in the bathroom, remember?"

They actually walked back and forth to the nearest restroom—"For realism! Also I need to move before I explode." Then Ruby went back inside and Yang and Blake were left alone again. This time, Yang broke first.

"So... do you know where Weiss is?"

"Still in the room we were sharing. She's drafting her speech."

"...Speech."

"Yes."

Yang mulled that over for a second, then put a palm to her face. "What are the odds of this working if she actually writes it out?"

"She isn't writing it out." Blake shrugged, like it was _totally normal_ to plan out a heartfelt conversation with _index cards._ "Just bullet points. Things she wants to mention."

"And memorizing them?"

"I assume."

Yang smiled wryly and shook her head. "At least some things haven't changed."

"You... you said she talked to you."

"Yeah?" It came out sounding defensive.

Blake lowered her eyes. "I just... I should thank her for that."

"Probably."

This time it was Blake's scroll that went off. She fiddled with the screen, then held it out so Yang could see.

— fgcf

"Here goes!" Yang said cheerfully. She led the way inside and stopped. Stared. Whitley was sitting in a huge white armchair, probably the seat his dad would have used if he were in the room, but he was so skinny it dwarfed him entirely. He was looking at Ruby, utterly enthralled.

"...turned out not to be the _best_ idea, since now the whole arm was on fire. You win some and you lose some, I guess. Hey guys!"

Yang squashed down the urge to put him in a headlock and ruffle his hair—seriously, he was like a tiny Weiss it wasn't _fair—_ and instead claimed the seat on the couch next to Ruby. Whitley's expression grew more guarded when Blake settled into another armchair opposite all of them, but there was no disgust. Only wariness.

It was also probably a good thing he didn't look like a little kid seeing fireworks for the first time anymore, since... well, Yang only had so much self control and somehow constant exposure to a baby Ruby hadn't given her any resistance to adorable faces. She had to remind herself that he wasn't _that_ little, he was fifteen, but... honestly, he didn't _act_ like it.

"Heya." Yang grinned, trying to set him at ease. "Learning more about my awesome little sister's daring escapades?"

Ruby glared at her. "Do you have to be this embarrassing all the time?"

Yang gave her a, 'Yes, why?' look. Ruby punched her shoulder. She smirked, then returned her attention to Whitley. This was going to be tricky, since going with the flow and returning to their natural dynamic would exclude him. The whole point was bringing him into their group, showing him that other people cared about him. He'd have to be the center of attention, at least for this conversation.

That might be a problem considering he'd clammed all the way up. Some people might approach this with care and caution, but Yang felt like he'd probably had too much of that in his life.

"Snow secret this place is ice cold, but I really wish I'd brought a blanket!"

Ruby covered her mouth, even though it was _much_ too late. Whitley just kind of... stared. He looked like an Ursa had come up to him and started beatboxing. Yang grinned through Ruby's hand.

"Sorry about that," Blake said, smirking. "She thinks she's funny."

Yang made an indignant noise, but secretly she was kind of thrilled. Her par— _friend_ getting in on some good-natured ribbing was progress. Important progress.

Whitley still didn't say anything. It seemed like he was shyer than Weiss had been when she first got to Beacon. Yang knew how to handle that. She had to wriggle free of Ruby first, then she smiled in the most welcoming way she could and said, "So, I've always wondered this, and no one will give me a straight answer—when do the northern lights actually show up? I wanna see 'em, but my Uncle told me you can't unless it's the dead of winter and there's a guidebook that says it has to be the summer equinox."

There had been no such guidebook, and it had been Weiss, not Qrow, who had mentioned that the Aurora Borealis was a winter thing. That was the one rule, though. No talking about Weiss.

Yang wondered if everyone in Atlas defaulted to bringing up the Aurora when they had nothing else to say, or if it was just their group. Ruby had a point, though—what the hell _else_ were you supposed to talk about with a fifteen-year-old boy who had hardly ever set foot out of the manor he grew up in, and who did almost nothing all day except learn about finance?

Whitley was still looking a bit shell-shocked, but after being asked a direct question he rebooted enough to sneer. "Obviously whoever wrote that _guidebook_ had no idea what they were talking about. The Aurora appears only in winter."

"Man, I was kinda hoping my Uncle was wrong. Seems like it gets dead cold out here."

Whitley cocked his head to the side. "I thought you had... well, you know."

"Aura?" Blake managed a smile at that. A pained one, but still. "I _wish_ it worked that way."

"You _could_ use it to block out the cold, I think," Ruby explained. "Except you'd need really fine control, and you'd use it up pretty fast. Mine'd keep me from freezing to death as long as it was active, though."

Whitley turned to look at her. "I've never understood the finer points of how it works."

"Yeah, I still don't get some of it. One of our friends, Ren, he has the best control out of all of us. Maybe he'd know more, I just have the basics."

"I've read up on the subject." Yang winced. It seemed kind of depressing, since Weiss had mentioned he hadn't had a strong enough Aura for it to be worth unlocking it and making him a better target for the Grimm. Yet he'd still researched it. Concern for the other two? Wallowing in what he couldn't have? Or maybe he'd just been curious.

"About the weather, though," Ruby said, holding up a finger. "This... this isn't _actually_ fall, is it? I mean... that's just..."

Whitley smirked. "It's quite balmy this time of year."

Blake shuddered theatrically, and Yang burst out laughing. She glared at her, both ears folding flat against her head.

That seemed to encourage him. "Once in February we had a night that was twenty degrees below zero."

Yang stared at him. "You... it... _what?!"_

He frowned, confused. Then his expression cleared. "Oh. Not Vale's system. I've always used the Atlesian one. It should be the equivalent of... about minus four of your degrees."

That... wasn't much better. "Okay... remind me to buy a scarf. Or several."

"Atlas has a different system?" Ruby asked.

Whitley's eyes lit up. "Yes. Superior, in my opinion. I don't say that out of any kind of national pride, it's just... well, Vale's system was _supposed_ to have a hundred degrees represent the average temperature of the human body, but it was off by about one and a half, so the entire thing is a flawed mess. Atlesian degrees are quite a bit simpler—the freezing temperature and boiling point of water are used as the reference points, rather than something arbitrary that was measured wrong centuries ago."

That was the most they'd gotten out of him in _days._ Yang had to admit her eyes had glazed over a bit, but the look on his face... there really _was_ a person under all that hoarfrost and backstabbing.

"You like science stuff, huh?" Ruby asked, leaning forward.

"Y-yes!" Whitley sat ramrod straight, then stammered out something about physics. Yang tuned it out, not because it wasn't interesting—he was explaining why the northern lights happened, which was cool but _definitely_ didn't take priority over the fact that he was _blushing._

Yang cast a quick glance at Blake, and found that she was sharing the incredulous look. So _that_ was how Ruby had gotten him to sit down and talk instead of hiding behind doorframes. That was... it was...

"Yang?"

"Huh?"

Ruby smirked at her. That was new—and kind of terrifying. "I was just asking you about accidental Dust reactions."

Yang laughed nervously, scratching at the back of her head. "What? I have... no _idea_ what you're talking about."

"She blew herself up."

"Did not!"

"Okay, yeah. She just set the workbench on fire."

Whitley took on a smug, knowing expression. "Oh, I'm _more_ than familiar with that sort of accident."

"Wait..." Yang perked up. "I sense an embarrassing story coming on."

His smile was downright _evil._ "Well, we all had to learn about Dust, and a _certain_ sister of mine was a little overzealous her first time using it. She had to skip a gala while her eyebrows grew back." Both eyes shone with vicious glee, but it wasn't malevolent. He'd mentioned Weiss, but Yang could tell he wasn't trying to shoot her down. It was playful, even if it was a harsh kind of playful, and she was pretty sure this was the first time since they'd arrived that he'd _acted_ like a little brother.

Once the taboo on bringing up Weiss had been broken by Whitley himself, conversation was much easier. Some of it was funny—Ruby summed up how they'd met, Blake told the story of Jaune and his guitar, and Yang accidentally started Whitley on a tangent about when an eight-year-old Weiss had been running through the halls and knocked over a vase, then climbed up onto a bookcase to hide. A lot of his stories about home were like that—adorable, mildly humiliating, but with a strange undercurrent to them. _Why did she need to hide that badly?_

More serious things came up, too. Whitley talked about how she'd acted while she was home. His memory of the accidental summoning of the Boarbatusk was very different—he'd really thought Weiss was trying to kill someone, and finding out later that she hadn't been in control _definitely_ wasn't reassuring. Somehow Ruby ended up mentioning Haven, and while they did their best to skirt around the fact that his sister had been _impaled,_ they did tell him in the vaguest terms that she'd been hurt and Jaune had healed her.

That was only a small part of the conversation, though. Blake started jump-starting it whenever they risked trailing off into awkward silence by asking how a random object worked—like holograms or airships or the heating systems of the manor. No matter what it was, he was guaranteed to know something, and to talk for a _while._ Ruby grew more and more excited every time it happened, and Yang found what she could follow fascinating. Some of it she understood easily, mostly things that she'd already learned about, but Whitley wasn't used to trying to explain what he knew to other people and tended to bring up jargon he didn't define first.

It was bizarre to watch—like the book knowledge of a fully grown adult had been packed into the body of a teenager who acted, socially, like a young child. He had a habit of interrupting people with ideas that were completely irrelevant to the conversation, or with a fact he'd remembered about something they'd been talking about half an hour ago. In some ways he was a bit like Weiss used to be—he got grumpy and stubborn when challenged. Several times he was so riled up that he nearly threw a tantrum. In others ways, he was the exact opposite. At one point Blake got frustrated with him and raised her voice. Instead of snapping back twice as hard like his sister would have done, he got meek and quiet and wouldn't look at her for a while afterwards.

The moment he really came alive was when Ruby mentioned she'd built Crescent Rose. He asked what _that_ was supposed to be, with enough condescension in his voice that she had to pull it out on principle—very possibly on purpose—and had then just _stared._ After that the two had dissolved into an extremely technical discussion that lost Yang partway through. She'd built her gauntlets, but they were a _mite_ less complicated than her sister's scythe at the best of times, and when they got into possible improvements using Dust engravings... yeah.

Instead she watched Whitley's face, the way his posture opened up and he started speaking so quickly it was hard to understand him even without taking the subject matter into account. Before he'd been polite— _sometimes_ —but he'd always treated the questions he was asked like he was being tested. It was also obvious that he _liked_ being tested, but that was still different than talking about something he was passionate about just because he could.

 _This is completely unfair,_ she thought, watching him flail a hand in an attempt to articulate some finer point about using gravity Dust to change the direction of recoil. _Now I kinda want to keep him._

It was almost ten at night by the time they wound down—mostly because Whitley started yawning in between sentences and protesting that he _definitely_ wasn't tired. And _damn it,_ but Yang was only mortal so she gave his head a rub before she left the room. The indignant squawking was so familiar she was tempted to do it again.

As they were all walking out, Blake paused in the doorway. "Whitley? If it's really so difficult to work with us around... maybe the most productive thing you could do right now is catch up on some sleep. It'll help you focus better."

He stared at her for a moment, then nodded. It was slow and suspicious, like he was waiting for the trap, but Yang liked to think he seemed relieved, too.

After that they met up with Weiss. She opened the door the second Ruby knocked, looking frazzled.

"Well?"

"Mission success!" Ruby held up a hand. Weiss stared at it, eventually giving it a dubious nudge with her own.

"Was it?" Blake didn't sound like she was doubting their leader's claim, exactly, more like she was asking a genuine question. "I'm still not sure what we were trying to do in the first place."

"Well, he seemed pretty happy," Ruby pointed out. "And, yeah, we didn't get the whole story about the message, but that wasn't the point. The point was getting him to talk to people who aren't, y'know, an employee or his dad."

Weiss cringed in sympathetic horror. "That _is_ good," she agreed.

"Plus Blake told him to get some sleep, and I think he's actually gonna do it!"

"Thank you."

"So..." Yang jabbed a thumb at the door. "Are you gonna go talk to him?"

Weiss nodded, then froze. Winced. "No. I don't think I can."

Ruby put a hand on her shoulder. "Weiss, it's really not so—"

"I know. It's not that I'm having second thoughts, it's that we just convinced him to rest tonight. If we approach him now... it's _much_ easier to talk people into something when they're exhausted, and it's late so we'd be time pressured as well."

"So you're... worried he'll be more likely to let us help him?" Yang asked.

"They're both techniques we've been taught. He'd recognize them and shut down completely, and I honestly couldn't blame him. I can talk to him tomorrow, when we have plenty of time and he's well rested. Whether it goes well or not, we'll be out of here by the end of the day."

"Ominous," Blake pointed out.

"This will be all or nothing, so... yes."

"I guess we should go to bed too," Ruby said.

Yang held up a hand. "One second. Because, um... there was something else I noticed and I, uh... it might be kind of important?"

"Huh?"

Well. This seemed like one of those moments where bluntness was best. "He's got a giant crush on you, Ruby."

Bluntness, on second thought, might not technically have been best for _everyone,_ but it was definitely entertaining. Blake had no reaction, she'd already picked up on it, but Weiss looked like she'd just been clobbered over the head with a golf club. Ruby, for her part, went cross-eyed thinking it over.

"Nah," she said eventually, grinning. "That's a joke, right?"

Yang shook her head. So did Blake.

The disbelieving expression turned worried. "Wait... _what?_ But... I mean..."

"It makes sense, if you think about it," Blake told her. "You're close to his age."

"But... but..."

"I think it's kinda cute," Yang said. Weiss collapsed backwards onto the bed and put a hand over her face.

"Are you okay?" Ruby poked one of her feet.

"No."

Then, Ruby seemed to realize something. "Wait, wait! What do I do?!"

"You don't really have to do anything," Yang pointed out. "Unless you like him too, which—"

"What?! No! He's like... okay, I guess he's fifteen, but just... _no."_

"Then you don't have to do anything. Just wait for it to pass, and if he says something, uh..."

"Try not to break his heart," Blake finished. "Or anything else."

"I'm going to sleep," Weiss decided. "And maybe I'll forget all about this conversation by morning."

Yang gave her a pat on the shoulder. "I wouldn't bet on that, but go ahead."

She and her sister went back to their room, where Ruby sat on the bed and bounced up and down a few times. "This is so weird."

Yang snickered. "C'mon, it was bound to happen sometime."

"Yeah, but... _weird."_

"Hey." Ruby looked up, and Yang gave her hair a ruffle because she was _weak,_ damn it! "Don't worry about it, okay? If you don't want to deal with it you don't have to."

"It's not _all_ bad-weird," Ruby said, looking thoughtful. "I mean, I never really thought anyone would see me as the cool older Huntress, so that's kind of neat. It's just that I don't feel like that about... anyone, really."

"It'll happen eventually," Yang said. Paused. "Or maybe it won't. That happens sometimes too. Either way, you can't force it."

"Yeah." Ruby lay back, looking at the ceiling.

Yang flopped down onto her side, then gave her sister's shoulder a squeeze. "You've always got us, okay? No matter what."

"I know _that."_

Yang smiled softly and said, "Good."


	6. Welcome to the Madhouse

**Welcome to the Madhouse**

* * *

Whitley spent the rest of the evening feeling untouchable. He was walking on air, and then he slept long and deep cocooned in his blankets.

It was only after he got out of bed the next morning that he realized the full magnitude of his mistake. He'd somehow managed to forget for hours on end that these strangers weren't _his_ allies. Sure, it was better to let himself slip in front of them than someone who belonged to Father, but that was like saying that it was wiser to leap off the top floor of the Schnee manor than the very apex of the Atlas CCT.

He'd been stupid. The fact that the Huntresses were strangely captivating didn't excuse it. They'd _seemed_ to show him truer sides to themselves—the borderline offensive sense of humor, the love of books, the precise and deadly work of art and engineering that was Ruby's scythe—but that didn't mean anything. Winter always acted like she was above it all, and sometimes he'd thought he'd seen someone who cared under that façade, but that obviously hadn't been the case.

Alright. He'd miscalculated. Or he hadn't calculated at all, which was worse. What now?

He wouldn't talk to the strange Huntresses anymore. The thought pulled at something in his stomach, and he grimaced. Had he really gotten _that_ attached already?

"Stupid," he said aloud, cracking a fist against the side of his head. "Stupid, stupid, _stupid—"_

There was a knock at the door, and he jumped. "What?" he demanded, furious with himself. He was a _Schnee,_ and here he was acting like a frightened rabbit.

"It's me."

Whitley froze. Mastering himself, he called back, "Go away, Weiss."

Silence. Then, when he was sure she'd left and gone to find one of her friends instead, she knocked again.

"I won't be long. I just need to talk to you."

He sat on his bed for a while, scowling at the closed door. This time he could sense that she was still there, waiting. He tried to weigh the benefits and risks. She was still his rival, whatever she said, and she wanted to talk to him. That was reason enough to refuse. Besides, he wasn't in the mood for another interrogation about that _stupid_ message. It was a moment of weakness or insanity, probably both, and he was sick of them bringing it up every other minute.

On the other hand, he might be able to persuade her to leave the manor, and to take the strangers with her. That would be worth it. Whitley should have known better than to let himself be lured into... _whatever_ that was, yesterday, and he would endeavor to be more cautious in the future. That said, the easiest way to keep it from happening again would be to remove the source of the problem.

He opened his mouth to let Weiss in, but his throat caught at the last moment. It was impossible to see into the hallway, and he'd been thinking for a while. He had no way of knowing for sure how urgently she'd wanted to speak with him. She might have left already. The idea of calling out or opening the door and finding that she wasn't there was unbearable. No one else would see it, but he would have made the opening gesture and watched it fall flat. It was humiliating just imagining it.

Frustrated, he tried to reason his way around the problem. If he made a noise like he was in pain, probably she'd say _something_ if she was still there. But then he wouldn't have an injury, and she would ask questions. Maybe if he—

"You know," Weiss said dryly, still talking through the door, "sometimes Deathstalkers hide in their burrows for days on end. Any Huntress who doesn't want to wander into a trap has to wait."

"That's a shame," Whitley shot back. "It seemed like such a promising career."

He opened the door, feeling relieved. Not because she was still there, but because now he _knew._ He'd always been disturbed by Schrödinger's cat. For him the uncertainty of the closed box took on the worse aspects of each possibility, summoning up fears both of the living cat biting him and the sight of the corpse.

Weiss walked in and looked around. "It hasn't changed."

Whitley was surprised she even remembered being in here. He couldn't recall specifics, only the vague notion that it had happened a few times when he was very young. She was wrong, too—it _had_ changed. Not the overall layout, maybe, but the books were different and there was more clutter on the desk. Maybe she was talking about the sheets, the carpet, the curtains. He'd always insisted on replacing old furniture with as near as he could get to identical copies. It still felt like something was lost each time.

"Well?" he prompted her. She sat on his bed, and he tried not to bristle too visibly. When she patted the space next to her—offering him a seat in _his own room—_ he gritted his teeth and obeyed.

Weiss gave him a serious look. "I know we haven't gotten along. You don't even like me, let alone trust me."

He didn't deny it.

"All I'm asking is that you hear me out. Entirely. Then... if you really want me to go, I'll go."

She would leave. She would say her piece, and then she would leave. Whitley felt something in him relax. He hadn't realized, but the uncertainty of it had been making him anxious. Like the closed door. She might leave, she might not, and thinking about either was painful. With things settled, he could finally process it. _She'll go away,_ he thought. _I'll have the manor to myself again, I'll be free to catch up on my work._ That was good. It ached, but it was good.

"Fine."

"You've met my teammates."

It wasn't a question, but Whitley nodded anyway.

She smiled. It was a small, lopsided little thing, and utterly alien in its softness. "I've never said it in as many words, because... well, you know. But they're the best thing that's ever happened to me."

He looked away, not wanting to see the expression on her face. It was uncomfortable. She was baring her throat to him, and all of a sudden he didn't know what to do with the knife. Or his hands.

"I almost ruined that. I would have, if they hadn't been the most uncommonly stubborn people I've ever met."

Whitley risked a glance at her and saw that her eyebrows had pulled together. She caught him looking and smiled again. "We both learned how to deal with children our age at those parties, of course. I knew _how_ to be polite, I just wasn't. Maybe because none of them were following those rules either, maybe because I was sick of acting that way, or... maybe because I thought I was better than them."

"Then you saw the error of your ways and apologized, and cried, and hugged it out, and now everything is sunshine and rainbows."

She laughed. "Well, no. Ruby clung onto me like a leech and refused to stop being my friend no matter _what_ I did, Yang and I butted heads constantly, and Blake revealed some things about herself that I... didn't take well. We fought, I did some reevaluating, and... I changed. A lot. I hadn't realized how much until I came back."

"I noticed." That was an understatement. He had seen how much it had chafed her, the way she'd paced around the manor like some great animal that had been caged. The way she'd stare out the window for hours on end, looking lost somewhere between wistfulness and grief. Remembering. The manor hadn't fit her anymore, and it only became more obvious the more Father tried to cram her back in.

Weiss looked down at her lap. "Thinking back on how I acted in the beginning... I remember lashing out at the people closest to me, just because... I don't even _know._ That's the worst part. Everyone seemed so clumsy and loud and _irritating."_

Whitley could relate.

"I didn't know how to deal with any of it, so I... fell back on old habits, I suppose. I tried to be better than everyone else, be _perfect._ I pushed people away because I felt like they were rivals, or sycophants, or too chaotic, or even dangerous."

"Your point being?"

"My point being... that isn't normal. And not in a good way, either. I clashed with Beacon at first because it operated on a completely different system. It's... simpler in some ways, but more complicated in others. At first it seemed like no one was even _trying,_ but that was just because they weren't killing themselves trying to be perfect. I thought people wanted to earn favors when they were just being nice."

"Being nice." It came out flat and dry, but still without even a tenth of the condescension he was trying to convey. Weiss laughed.

"Exactly! It took a long time for me to stop wondering where all the hidden agendas were. As ridiculous as I'm sure it sounds, most of them didn't have any. Blake had secrets, but she was... she was hiding because she was afraid of what would happen if she was found out, not because she wanted to manipulate me."

"I would argue that seeing no agenda only means you're talking to an exceptional liar. Even 'nice' people, as you put it, have pity as their hidden motivator."

"I'm sure there's something like that," Weiss said, waving a hand as if it didn't even matter. "Ruby wanted a friend, and I suppose you _could_ call that a hidden motive, but it's not the same thing."

He didn't feel like starting a debate on the subject. "What's your point? I'm well aware that Beacon was different, but it hardly matters now that the place is in ruins."

Weiss flinched as if he'd slapped her. He'd never made her react so strongly to _anything_ before, and he hadn't even really meant to do that. It didn't feel as satisfying as he would have thought.

"Think about it, Whitley." Weiss spread her hands. "Beacon... it wasn't _that_ abnormal. The reason people didn't go around scheming and stabbing each other in the back is because they grew up in places where no one would even think of doing that. Not to family. It's _here_ that's not normal."

"Normal compared to what? Some shack in the middle of nowhere with Grimm skulls on the walls?" Not that Grimm skulls _could_ be mounted, but the point still stood.

"Normal isn't the right word," Weiss admitted. "Nora and Ren grew up alone together in Anima, and god only _knows_ what went on with Jaune's family. It's not that it's not 'normal' here, whatever that is. I mean that it's _toxic,_ Whitley."

"Right." He rolled his eyes. "You're allergic to the air in this house. I know."

"Whitley. Listen."

Reluctantly, he turned and met her eyes. He was reminded of that flash of _something_ from Yang. This time he couldn't leave. He shifted in place, wishing she'd hurry up and _go away._

"It's not okay that you haven't had time to _sleep._ I know what it's like here, I _know,_ and he's always had unrealistic expectations, but it was _never_ this bad."

"Shut up."

"I know it's not your fault. I'm telling you that it doesn't _have_ to be like this. I can help—"

 _"I get it!"_ He shot to his feet, hands balling into fists. "All this was _easy_ for you, you didn't _have_ to stay up late, you didn't _have_ to work so hard. Just _shut up,_ I don't _care!_ If you weren't _distracting me,_ maybe I'd be making better progress!"

She was speechless for a moment, staring at him with wide eyes. Eyes like Father's, greyish instead of aqua. That was meaningless, he knew it was meaningless—the genes controlling the pigmentation of that one tiny muscle probably weren't even on the same _chromosome_ as any of the ones responsible for intelligence, or personality, or anything really important. It still bothered him.

"You think he's pushing you this hard because you need to catch up?"

He looked at the floor. If they were normal siblings—not _equal_ in strength, maybe, but at least not so horribly skewed that one could not possibly beat the other—he might have hit her. He used to, before she had aura, but she'd been bigger than him then and tended to win fights.

"Whitley. _Think."_

Even though his throat burned, he still found it in himself to glare at her.

"Father isn't stupid. If he was going to push you to catch up, he'd be efficient about it. Our lessons aren't supposed to use up every hour of the day because we'd _burn out._ He _knows_ that, and he knows that a lack of sleep and food make learning _slower,_ not faster."

Slowly, Whitley sank back down onto the bed.

"Besides," Weiss went on, "You're ahead of my economics scores, if you adjust for the age gap."

That wasn't the case, though he _was_ better in physics and advanced Dust mechanics.

"I honestly can't imagine why he's doing this, but it's not because you're not good enough. And even if it was, pushing you this hard would be counterproductive to the point of insanity. I don't _think_ he's lost his mind, he probably has some motivation that I don't know about, but... doesn't the fact that we have to worry about whether or not he _wants_ us to burn out seem wrong to you?"

Whitley didn't respond.

"So. The message." He deliberately looked in the other direction, hunching his shoulders sullenly. "It obviously wasn't a joke."

He wanted to argue with that, but he didn't think he could articulate why he _had_ sent it, or any of the others before it. Maybe it had just felt good to scream into a void.

Weiss wasn't done. "You don't need to tell me exactly what made you send it, but I _do_ need to ask..." She shifted uneasily. "Has he hit you?"

Whitley whipped his head around. "What? No! He doesn't _do_ things like that." For a second he was angry, indignant. Then he saw the look on her face and knew the question hadn't been hypothetical.

"Oh."

"Yes. Well. It probably hurt his hand more than me." He doubted that, unless she was speaking in the most basic physical sense.

Before long, Weiss cleared her throat and broke the tense silence. "Can you look at me?"

He bristled at that—of course he _could,_ what kind of asinine question was that?—but he did turn his head. Her expression was deadly serious. "I know I can't force you into anything, even if I think it would help you. I wouldn't want to if I could. There's enough of that in this family as it is." She took a breath. "So. I'm giving you a choice. As far as I can tell, we have three options. The first is that my team and I leave, on the condition that if you need me, you call me."

He swallowed hard. The certainty he'd felt when she first sat down had evaporated. She might leave, she might not. Father might be hurting him on purpose. He might just think he wasn't good enough.

"Or, I could talk to Father. And by talk to, I mean shout at. I might do that regardless—I'd like a word with him about some of the... disagreements we had before I left. If you don't want me to, I won't bring you up at all, but I could tell him to leave you alone. You have my scroll number, and I'd figure out some way to stay in range until the CCT network came back up. Failing that, I could always visit at regular intervals, say once every couple of months. He'd know he couldn't do anything this extreme."

The idea made Whitley almost physically nauseous, but strangely enough he was glad—he'd made a decision. Whatever else she did, he didn't want that.

"And the last option?"

"You could come with us."

Whitley waited for a second, more than half expecting her to laugh. She didn't.

"I never felt right until I got out of here. It's... it's so _different._ You could see what it's like somewhere that isn't this hostile, make friends of your own. I think you'd be happier. Much happier."

His throat bobbed as he swallowed, thinking of his sisters in terms of before and after—the way Winter had stood straighter, the foreign spark in Weiss' smile. With dawning horror, he realized part of him already _wanted_ to be persuaded. The thought of them leaving wasn't a phantom pain anymore, it had been made real. Another closed door—himself in three days, suffocating in his bedroom or adrift, somewhere _else,_ with Weiss and the other Huntresses. The aching loss of one combined with the unknown dread of the other.

"I'm not sure what would happen afterward," Weiss admitted. "You wouldn't be anywhere near combat. We've been living in a house in Atlas, and someone would stay there with you whenever we had to do something dangerous. I could make sure of that. You'd be as safe as we could make you, but... that's not as safe as the manor."

Whitley felt a pang. He wanted her to stop talking like that. The practicalities of it were making it seem much more real, much more frightening, and at the same time there was still that part that wanted her to talk him into it and was frustrated that she was doing the exact opposite.

"There's another boy with us, Oscar. He's about your age." She paused. "Sort of. It's complicated, but I think he's having trouble fitting in with the rest of us. You could both use a friend."

The fear sharpened along with the picture in his mind of a small Atlesian loft. Another boy, his silhouette blurred and indistinct. Fragments of him clarified themselves—a wide, toothy grin, steps taken with fluid grace. Silver eyes.

"I can't know for sure what would happen, but... I'd trust any of them with my life. They'd be kind to you. I really believe it would make you happy in the long run."

Whitley hunched his shoulders, hugging both arms against his stomach. "Why... why do you _care?"_ The words bubbled up almost before he could think them, the question he'd been wanting to ask since she'd arrived.

She smiled again—the soft smile, the one he thought belonged only to the strangers. "You're my brother. _Duh."_

He brought his knees up to his chest, wrapping both arms around his legs. "I can't," he murmured.

"Whitley." He turned to stare at her. "You absolutely can. I'm asking if you want to—if you do, I'll handle Father."

At that, he laughed. It felt hollow.

"Are you doubting me?" She smirked, tossing her head. There it was—a remnant of his old sister, the one who sang at charity galas. Not gone, not dead, just different.

"You know it's not that simple."

"It can be." Weiss grinned. "What's he going to do, name Klein the heir? If all else fails, I'll tell him I kidnapped you."

Whitley found himself staring again, his mouth slightly open. The serious look came back, and she leaned forward. "I've met a lot of people, recently. Most have been wonderful, but there have been others. People who... people who can toss around _lightning._ Father isn't like that." She tapped her temple. "Any real power he has is up here. The rest—the guards, the droids, even the military—all that, my team and I can deal with. I think Blake and Yang would both jump at the excuse." Her finger came up towards him. He tensed, but she only tapped him lightly on the forehead. "This is the hard part. I can help you, I _want_ to help you, but... it's your fight, in the end."

Weiss was silent, after that. Leaving him to think. Several long minutes in, she still hadn't prompted him, or suggested they needed to go soon. She just let him sit, his mind going in frantic circles, all without a single nudge in either direction now that she'd said what she wanted to say. It made the choice harder—if he'd suspected this was a ploy, it would have been a question of whether he wanted to be controlled by her or by Father. All the confusing and overwhelming details he'd been collecting over the past few days would be discarded. Simple.

In the end, it came down to two pictures—one of himself in his room, the sun long since set, trying to ignore the itching in his eyes and the way the walls were inching imperceptibly away, leaving him in that empty and cavernous space. And the other... the other was fuzzy, like a runny watercolor, but there were flashes of certainty—Weiss. Her teammates. A boy his age. The Atlesian apartment, tight and cramped, echoing just like the music room with laughter and the vicious butchering of a recorder.

"Okay." It was barely audible, but the moment he said it he felt more at ease. He'd made the decision, and now it was just a matter of consequences, good or bad. When he glanced up, Weiss was beaming at him. He thought she must have picked that up from one of the Huntresses, because he couldn't imagine she'd learned it from Winter.

Then, without warning, she reached out and ruffled his hair. He turned his head and stared at her, too incredulous to even be angry. "Sorry. I've been around Yang too long."

Warmth bloomed in the pit of his stomach, washing away some of his nerves. This was happening. It was _really happening._

"Do..." He swallowed. "Do we have to stay another night?"

"No, but we can."

He shook his head rapidly. The choice was made—he wanted it to be over. Done. The soft smile came back. Weiss stood up, beckoning him with one hand. And Whitley followed.

* * *

From the moment he accepted Weiss' offer, everything began happening much too fast. There were things to be done—she flat-out refused to let him go without saying goodbye to both their mother and Klein. He claimed that he couldn't do that just now because he needed to pack. She sent Yang to pack for him.

"I need to have a word with Father." Weiss had a slightly distracted look on her face, like she was trying to visualize a list she'd written up. It wouldn't surprise him.

"I'll go with you!" Ruby said.

Whitley felt a pang of nerves. Of the four of them, he was least comfortable spending time alone with the faunus. But he couldn't _say_ that, so it was her who escorted him to the garden.

He paused in the arched doorway, looking past the marble columns into the muted sunshine in the courtyard. It was filled to the brim with flowers, most of them rare or exotic, all of them beautiful and sweet-smelling. This place belonged to mother, and her alone—it was the only place in the manor that did. He could remember summer mornings when the air was crisp and cool, strolling along labyrinthine paths. It was soothing here. He was only now realizing he might never see it again.

Swallowing hard, he glanced sideways and saw Blake taking in the garden. He turned back around. It didn't feel real yet, but it was getting there. Talking to mother would cut away the last tie he had. No going back.

He found her quickly. She was in her usual spot, a half-hidden bench overlooking the fountain. The moment she looked up, he knew it had been foolish to hope she might be at least somewhat lucid. There was a bottle at her feet, and the glass in her hand obviously hadn't been the first. Somewhere behind him, he heard Blake make a small noise in the back of her throat.

"Whitley." She squinted, as if she was trying to work something out in her head. "And... you're..."

"Blake."

"Yes." Mother nodded heavily, as though she was falling asleep. "Of course."

"I'm leaving." Whitley could have softened the blow, but he didn't see the point. It wasn't as if she'd remember this later.

She stared at him, still puzzling it over. Her eyes were clouded, staring at some point a few inches behind his head. "You..."

"I might be back. I might not."

He'd been expecting... he wasn't sure. Confusion or anger, at best. At worst, he thought she might shrug and go back to drinking. Instead, she smiled.

"I'm glad," she murmured. That might have stung, but he could tell that there were tears in her eyes. She held both arms wide.

"I'd rather you didn't." He used to indulge her, they all did, but her clammy skin and the ever-present sour smell meant her hugs were something to be endured, not enjoyed. Eventually he'd sworn to himself that he'd wouldn't suffer through another ever again, not unless he _wanted_ to. He'd never wanted to.

She looked hurt, but she lowered her arms. "You're going with Weiss?"

"Yes."

"I'll talk to her." Mother nodded to herself. "Make sure she looks after you."

He gave even odds on whether or not she'd get around to it before she forgot. A glance at the bottle at her feet, and he revised that to sixty-forty against.

"Well. Goodbye."

"Goodbye."

The thought of leaving her behind hurt less than leaving the garden. In some ways, he thought it had better preserved who she used to be—she was the one who had laid it out, and for a while she had done a fair portion of the weeding and tending. Probably it was just the way he'd associated them together when he was small. He was too young to remember the way mother was, but while she herself had changed, the garden had not. It still carried the same feeling as when he was learning to toddle around among the flowers.

He left both without looking back. Now it was just Klein, which would be easier. Weiss wanted him to say goodbye to the old butler, but Whitley had never been as close to him as she had. He was too indulgent to be trusted. She'd learned that lesson, too, but obviously not very well.

Klein didn't hug him. Whitley got the sense that he wanted to, but _he_ didn't. Instead they shook hands, with the butler smiling warm and proud like he'd never been kept busy at useless tasks for hours at a time. It was uncomfortable, but before long it was over.

That left him alone with Blake with nothing in particular for either of them to do. Whitley lasted about half a minute before he decided to look for Weiss. That involved approaching Father's office, which made him nervous, but he went anyway.

Ruby was waiting in the hallway, fidgeting with the edges of her cloak and shooting nervous glances at the door. She looked up when she heard them coming, and he thought she looked relieved.

"Hey! You guys all done with the goodbyes?"

"Yes." Whitley glanced towards the door. Then he walked over, stopping about a foot away. He could hear voices inside—they were tense, and rising even as he listened.

"Whitley," Ruby said, "maybe you shouldn't..."

"I want to listen."

"I doubt you'll be able to hear anything, anyway." Blake glanced towards the door. "I can't make out what they're saying." The only reason she couldn't was that she was standing almost fifteen feet away, which he thought weakened her argument.

"Not yet." Whitley turned so that his right ear was parallel to the door. "It isn't as if they're _not_ going to shout."

It was Weiss that started it.

"I'm not _asking_ you! I'm _telling_ you!"

A muffled reply. Father was still keeping his temper down.

"Then maybe, _just maybe,_ you should have thought about that _before_ you decided to try working him to death!"

Ruby touched his arm. He jumped, flushing, and she gave his sleeve a gentle tug away from the door. "Come on," she whispered. "You don't need to—"

 _"Assertiveness?"_ It was so loud that Blake winced, and Whitley probably would have heard it even if he'd let the other two lead him away. "What is _wrong_ with you?!"

Father's voice began to rise, though Whitley only caught snatches—"...was necessary ... won't allow it!"

Weiss was speaking more quietly now, and Whitley pressed his ear against the door. "...the police, the military, whatever. I don't care."

"You're _worse_ than your sister!"

"Thank you for the compliment."

That was louder than it should have been. The door opened before Whitley could jump back. Weiss took one look at him and winced. "You weren't supposed to hear that." It was part reprimand, part apology.

"I wanted to know."

A sigh. "Go on. We're leaving. And, um..." She glanced at her teammates. "We should do it very, very quickly."

"How bad?" Blake asked.

"Worse than I expected, meaning he might call in the military."

 _"The military?!"_ Whitley burst out. "What did you _do?!"_

Weiss made a face. "He's lashing out, I suppose. Either way, we should leave. Now."

They met Yang halfway to the door. She had two suitcases and four rucksacks all slung over her shoulders. On one side, he could see the muscle standing out under her skin. On the other there was only smooth metal. "Hey!" she called out, grinning. "We about ready to... uh... why are you walking so fast?"

"Slight hiccup." Weiss sped up to the point where Whitley had to jog to keep up with her. "He might have been angrier than I expected."

"So?" Yang managed to shrug even with the extra weight of their luggage. "What's he gonna do, dress up in one of the suits of armor and come at us with a decorative broadsword?"

"He has favors with the General."

"Oh." Yang started walking faster.

By the time they were outside, Whitley was panting and there was a stitch in his side. "I can't..." he gasped.

"Gotcha covered!" Ruby crouched down and gestured to her back. "I've always wanted to do this. Hop on!" He glanced at Weiss, and she just made a 'hurry up' motion with her hand.

So Whitley left home— _really_ left home, not just on a business trip or a vacation—for the first time on the back of a Huntress, feeling simultaneously like a child and like he'd aged years in the past few days. Most of the former probably came from the fact that he was sitting on Ruby's shoulders, with her gripping his legs. He'd seen Weiss doing this with Winter all the time, but he never had. At first he'd been afraid of heights, but then he'd refused on the grounds that it was childish and undignified. It was certainly childish and undignified _now,_ not least because he was taller than Ruby.

Then, when they were far enough from the manor, she set him back down. He was relieved, he didn't like being picked up and manhandled like that, but at the same time he felt vaguely disappointed.

There was a taxi ride that lasted nearly four hours. Whitley was crushed between Weiss and the door, and Blake had to sit in the passenger's seat next to the driver. This was made much less painful by the fact that he slept through most of it—he was exhausted in both mind and body, and there was something about the way the countryside blurred past the window that made him even sleepier.

It was in between dozing and waking that the reality of what he was _doing_ began to sink in. He pushed his head against the window, listening to the sound of his own breathing.

 _I'm leaving the manor._

He had a mad urge to sit bolt upright and order the driver to turn around. He'd changed his mind, this was a mistake, he wasn't ready! But Weiss had already shouted at Father. Too late.

His dreams later in the ride were restless, and he would found himself half awake, his head leaning against the window, his neck too stiff to move, listening. The other four were talking, though he caught only snatches before he fell asleep again.

When he woke up properly, it was dark and the stars were out. Weiss was shaking his shoulder. "We're here. Or, well, we're close."

'Close' turned out to be a small twenty-four-hour diner. They walked in, Blake ordered teas and coffees to appease the waitress, and Weiss dragged him into the family bathroom. From a rucksack slung over her shoulder she produced two hooded wool coats, each in a different shade of nondescript brown. A smear of makeup on her scar and a knit cap over his hair, and they looked a bit less like Schnee siblings.

It was a twenty minute walk from the diner to the apartment. By the end of it, Whitley was stumbling and dragging his feet. He expected that the house would be quiet with all its occupants asleep, and he would be able to go directly to bed. Then Ruby knocked on the door, and everything went to hell.

"You're back!" Whitley flinched at the sheer volume of the shout, and found himself staring into the startlingly teal eyes of yet _another_ Huntress. She was shorter even than Ruby and Weiss, and he had to look down at an alarmingly steep angle in order to make eye contact. For a second she just stood there, motionless. Then a huge grin spread across her face.

"Oh my gosh!" She pointed. "It's a tiny Weiss!"

"Nora," someone else called out, softly but sternly. The owner of the voice stepped in front of her, a boy with long dark hair and pink eyes. He blinked, getting a good look at Whitley for the first time. "...So it is."

Whitley straightened up indignantly—he was only three years younger, and he was _taller!_ —but it wasn't over. More people sprouted up even as he watched. There was a blond boy who scowled when he saw him. A tall, gangling man with red eyes. A girl with long brown hair and what appeared to be huge dark freckles. _Three_ faunus, two that must be related to Blake and a boy with a monkey tail and _no shirt._ Then, in the back, Whitley saw him. He was nothing like what he'd pictured. He was small, with dark skin, dark hair, and bright hazel eyes. His expression was strange, too old for his face, and he looked distinctly unhappy.

"Whoa." The monkey faunus leaned in to peer at him, and Whitley backed up a pace. "You really _did_ bring him."

That set everyone else off. The girl with the freckles turned a violent shade of red, startling him so badly that he almost fell over. "How is _another_ Schnee supposed to bring us anything but trouble?! We can't just—"

"—dangerous enough as it is," the blond boy was saying, "I don't know if we should—"

"But look at him!" teal-eyes insisted. "We can't just kick him out!"

"I told you _no,"_ snapped the red-eyed man, glaring at Weiss. "Twice. You didn't respond."

"I assumed you'd realize that meant I was doing it anyway," she shot back, "so I didn't bother wasting the network bandwidth."

The young boy— _Oscar, that has to be Oscar—_ furrowed his brow. "This isn't a party, Miss Schnee." His voice was wrong for his body, stern and deep and with a disturbingly hollow quality to it.

They were all talking at once, and Whitley shrank behind Weiss without even meaning to. Then Ruby put both pinkies to her mouth and whistled.

"Everybody shut up for a second!" She sighed. "Okay, look, I'm kinda tired and I wanna get this over with. Qrow, Ozpin, if we have to we can talk about this now. Everyone else... can it just wait until morning?"

Most acquiesced easily, though the freckled girl turned a toxic shade of orange and glared at him. _Another faunus, I'd bet._ He felt sweat pricking at his palms. He'd assumed Blake would be the only one.

All that left only the red-eyed man—Qrow, or Ozpin?—and Oscar. "I'm sorry," Oscar said, glancing at Whitley, "but it won't be safe for him here."

"It obviously wasn't safe _there,_ either," Weiss snapped. "Professor, I'll do whatever I can to help you win this fight, but I have other responsibilities. He's my _brother."_

 _Professor?_

"I understand that."

"I don't." The red-eyed man, this time.

"Uncle Qrow!" Ruby gave him a wounded look.

He folded his arms and glared. He was _much_ taller than Whitley, taller even than Father. "I do my best to avoid your family, but even I got the impression you younger ones hated each other."

Whitley looked at the floor.

"Whatever his situation was like there, I can assure you that we are in _real_ danger here," Oscar insisted. He sounded gently scolding, and reminded Whitley of one of his tutors. _Wrong. This is all wrong._

Weiss let out a bitter laugh. "Oh, _a_ _re we?_ I must have somehow missed the _javelin_ sticking out of my chest."

Whitley looked up so sharply he strained his neck. She winced. "Sorry. I didn't... it wasn't as bad as I made it sound."

"Yeah, it was." Qrow scowled. "And if you think dropping a kid into all this is a good idea, you're drunker than I am."

Oscar cleared his throat and raised an eyebrow, silencing Qrow with a look. "I'm sure we can work out other arrangements. Winter, perhaps?"

Maybe it was the long trip, or the exhaustion, or the fact that he hadn't eaten since lunch. Maybe it was that the boy his age had turned out to be their professor, that he didn't even _want_ Whitley there, or the patronizing way he talked. Whatever it was, the mention of Winter was the final straw. The dream he'd allowed to form, of a small and cozy apartment filled with exciting, exotic people and even a possible friend, collapsed in on itself. In its place was an army barracks, where there would be no one to talk to all day, where Winter would be too busy to pay him any mind, and where one day Father would simply show up and collect him with very little fuss.

 _I should have stayed._ It was obvious, it was _so_ obvious, he'd just panicked and done something stupid without thinking. This would only make things worse, he wasn't loyal, _he wasn't loyal,_ Weiss was wrong he was too stupid to be the heir he needed to catch up, had to go home...

Tears sprang up and his nose started to run. He wiped at his face angrily, then desperately, flinching when he chafed sensitive skin.

A hand came down on the small of his back and he flinched. Weiss drew back, biting her lip, then turned on the other two. "I'm _not_ going to toss him around like a football. If he wants to stay here, he stays—or I leave with him."

The look on Oscar's face went from mildly reproachful to flat-out angry. "Do you truly believe we couldn't go on without you? Or do you want to punish us out of _spite_ just because things might not go your way?"

"Neither." She rested a hand on the hilt of her sword. "I am _quite_ sure I could find a way to be useful elsewhere, but I don't want to. I _want_ to protect my brother."

The bright hazel eyes flashed. "By dragging him into a war without training?"

"Look who's talking."

For a second, Whitley thought Oscar was going to snap at her. Then his expression crumpled, as though he was in pain, and he put a hand to his head.

"Stop," he mumbled. This time he sounded younger, higher pitched. He straightened up. "Stop it, both of you. This isn't helping."

Weiss didn't look happy, but she nodded and stepped back. "I don't want to fight, but I can't leave him with Winter. She's in the military, it would be impossible to hide him. Either Father would find out or she would have to desert the army, and that isn't a choice I'd be willing to dump in her lap even if Whitley _did_ want to go with her."

"He still shouldn't be here," Qrow insisted. "This is dangerous enough."

"We already have noncombatants," Blake pointed out. "My parents—"

"Can handle themselves."

"In a brawl, maybe. They're not _trained._ My mom doesn't even have her aura unlocked. Either way, they won't be going out on missions by themselves. That means they can stay with Whitley and make sure he doesn't get hurt."

"Or we just make sure we always leave someone behind to keep the house safe." Yang shrugged. "That seems like a good idea anyway."

"Um." Oscar rubbed at the back of his neck, looking suddenly awkward and uncertain. "I think it would be better to let him stay. I'm already learning to fight, he could do it too."

Whitley shuffled his feet. "I can't," he mumbled. "My aura doesn't... it isn't..."

"No one ever unlocked it," Weiss explained. "As far as they could tell there wasn't enough of it to be worth making him a target for the Grimm."

"There's other stuff we could do," Ruby insisted. "I mean, most of the Atlesian army don't have strong auras, but they make up for it with armor."

"I've studied how they make it," Whitley said quietly.

"Me too! I bet I could whip something up, especially if we had tech to take apart."

Yang grinned and held her arm behind her back. "Don't look at me."

"I meant _armor,_ it's not like we're gonna chop his arm off!"

"He doesn't need to be at the same level as a Huntsman," Blake finished. "Most of the reformed Fang don't have aura, let alone enough of it to qualify for one of the academies. We won't be bringing him into danger, he only needs to be able to get away if someone finds the house."

"So am I." Whitley turned to look at Oscar, confused. "I still think he should stay."

A pause, with all the others still staring at him. Then he looked up and smiled. "He says it's fine, as long as he understands the risk."

"I think so."

"Don't think so." Qrow leaned against the wall. "Know so. Look, I'm not saying any of this because I dislike you or anything, but... these kids lost someone already. Yang is down an arm. Weiss got turned into a kebab."

"Uncle _Qrow!"_ Yang burst out, her eyes flashing red.

"What? She did! Just because healer-boy patched her up, doesn't mean it didn't happen. We can't do any of this warning stuff half-assed." He turned his stare on Whitley. "So. You sure you want this?"

Whitley's head was spinning. He wasn't, he _really_ wasn't. He wasn't a fighter and he never had been. But that wasn't the question. The question was whether he wanted to stay. He could go home, he hadn't been disinherited. Father would be angry, but mostly at Weiss. He could just leave.

Maybe he would have, if it hadn't been for the sudden change in Oscar. He hadn't realized how badly he'd wanted to meet this boy until he'd actually arrived. It wasn't even Oscar himself, just the _idea_ of him. He wanted what Weiss had, wanted it so badly that it ached.

"Yes."

"Okay." Qrow spread his hands. "In that case, welcome to the madhouse." Then he turned and clomped up the stairs.

"Sorry if he's a bit grumpy." Ruby scratched at her head. "He's, uh..."

"His sister tried to kill us all," Yang said flatly.

Whitley shot a glance at Oscar, who had gone into the kitchen and was filling up a glass of water. "What's wrong with him?" he whispered. Weiss opened her mouth to answer, but Yang cut her off.

"Go ask him." She winked, then gave Whitley what she probably thought was a little shove. He stumbled.

Not knowing what else to do, he wandered into the kitchen and stood stiffly. His mind was reeling. Things had grown so strange in such a short amount of time that everything seemed dreamlike and unreal.

"I'm sorry," Oscar said. "That he was, um... he's really just worried, he doesn't like taking risks if he doesn't have to."

"...He?"

Oscar made a face. "It's a long story. He's, uh... the old Headmaster of Beacon."

Whitley stared at him.

"I started hearing him a few weeks ago. He knew about Qrow, and he told me what to say to get him to trust me, so I don't _think_ I'm crazy, but..."

Whitley kept staring.

"He says he's cursed, and every time he dies he's reincarnated into a similar soul."

Whitley nodded reflexively, then shook his head, then turned and looked at the cup of water on the counter, which seemed to him the only thing left in the world that still made sense.

"It's been a weird month," Oscar admitted. He picked up the cup and took a long drink from it. Then he wiped his mouth, grinned, and said, "But at least I'm not the youngest anymore!"

"I'm fifteen," Whitley said, mostly out of habit.

Oscar made a face. "Not the youngest by as much."

Finally, Whitley couldn't hold it in anymore. He turned to Oscar, his face the closest to pleading as he could stand. "Is... is it _always_ like this?"

Somewhere in the other room, he heard Blake choke and start coughing. Yang cackled, Ruby called out a cheerful, "Yep!" and Weiss put a hand on her forehead.

"Oh."

He had no idea how to deal with that information, so he grabbed a glass out of a nearby cupboard and filled it with water. Oscar reached out and toasted their cups together. It wasn't the refined sort of toast he was used to, in fact it was downright barbaric.

Whitley found that he was oddly torn between trepidation, mostly from the welcome (or lack thereof) he'd just endured, and the sudden realization that he would never have to look at another one of those daily mining reports. He could read whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted. He could... well. There didn't seem to be a piano around here, but he was sure he could find someplace to play if he put his mind to it. He was talking to a boy his age, and he'd just met over a dozen people Father would _never_ approve of.

 _This may still go extremely well,_ he thought, _or catastrophically badly._ Or both. Weiss had warned him that it was different out here, but she most certainly had _not_ done it justice.

"Cheers!" Oscar said, grinning sheepishly.

What was it Qrow had said? Welcome to the madhouse? It seemed appropriate.

"Cheers," Whitley mumbled. Either he'd just started something that would change everything for the better, or he'd made the worst mistake of his life by far. He could decide in the morning. For now, all he really wanted to do was sleep.

Later, in the hallway leading to the bedroom he was sharing with most of Weiss' team—but not Blake, for some reason that hadn't been explained to him—his sister put a hand on his shoulder. "I know we're not at school," she said softly, "but I think it applies anyway."

She was smiling, though she didn't look happy. Not exactly. It was a complicated expression, but he thought he could detect both pride and wistfulness. Then she spread her hands in a gesture far grander than their surroundings deserved and said, "Welcome to Beacon."

* * *

 **And it's done. Wow it feels weird to finish something this quickly.**


End file.
